


Happenstance

by eclecticfandomer



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mobster fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticfandomer/pseuds/eclecticfandomer
Summary: When a man gate crashes her life, what will happen next?Clary has spent the better part of her life trying to forget the horrible nightmares and the terrifying day dreams. When her past catches up with her in the form of an injured curly haired blond, Clary must use her past and present to survive to the future.Also know as Happenstance on FanFiction
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Comments: 45
Kudos: 20





	1. TBD1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, EC here… Anyways, there's a few things that I have to get out of the way before you read.
> 
> This fic was originally NOT a TMI fic. It was a dream that I had about myself and my future. I spent the next few hours afterward brainstorming just where the hell my brain went in my subconscious. It wasn't Clary and Jace. It was me and someone I’ve never met before. Since this is largely based off of my dream, there will be parts of it that are OOC for the characters. Pieces of her character, of her skill sets, of her interests, are mine. I’ve always been super self conscious of myself so putting such a large part of me into this story is a monumental leap.  
> I have this story planned out in my head- more so than most of my other stories.  
> I know of one instance of the mob AU being done before (not to say there isn't more). I think this may have been what triggered my dream. It's a TMI fic called ‘the Bosses Daughter’ and its accompanying piece ‘the Mobsters Wife’. Both of these are by Mina lisly who is just a fantastic writer.  
> Another author who deserves some love is serene calamity. She had been getting hate for writing about non hetero normative topics. Personally I love her work so go check her out.  
> I AM NOT A TRAINED MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL!!!!! I don't know how many times I have to say that. I want to be a trauma surgeon one day, that does not mean I am one now. I used my very limited knowledge of medicine gleaned, in part, from TV shows (which are totally inaccurate- Thanks Doctor Mike! Bewoop!), from CPR/BLS certification every year for the last 4 years running, lifeguard training in October of 2019, and a 10 day summer seminar about emergency medicine where I learned a lot of fun shit. But: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL! IF YOU OR SOMEONE ELSE NEEDS ASSISTANCE CALL 911 (USA). Side note: If you are a medical professional and would like to be asked about aspects of surgery and the medical field to improve the accuracy of this fic please PM me!

“Thank fuck you’re here Mia. I’ve been managing a migraine all day and, between the gangsters and mobsters who are clogging the E.R. and the recent overtime we’ve all been pulling, I’m done. I need a shower and a long -ass- nap.” For some reason, the mobs that had been at one another's throats for months decided to make their move today of all days. It royally fucked up her birthday weekend plans to finally get a good night's sleep.

She loved this city, she really did. It was just... a nightmare at times. Unfortunately, New York was a prime port of shipment for various illicit things. Between the numerous warehouses that lined the Ocean, the Hudson and East Rivers, and the various bays around Staten Island and Long Island, illicit activity was a given. For whatever reasons, it had been getting worse. There were more and more victims in her E.R. without cause or reason.

It was late summer and, usually, she would operate on people who were in car accidents or who were in various water sport accidents. Instead- and she wasn't complaining yet -she was in the Operating Room stitching up gunshot wounds and various slashes and stab wounds while they were digesting their body weight in Narcan.

She loved this city. She really did. It had a level one trauma center, which was pivotal to her job, while also being a lifetime away from her past in New Orleans. The increased activity did have her worried though. It had been over 10 years but even a lifetime wouldn't be enough.

Clary continued walking past the various rooms, all holding adult patients while police officers stood watch at the ends of the corridors. Over the last few months, this had become commonplace. Heavily armed men in black became the newest decoration in the sterile grey building. Management said that they were here to keep the doctors and nurses safe. 

Clary watched as ‘visitors’ ducked in and out of the rooms that lined the halls. Green eyes on a swivel, watching and waiting for someone- anyone -to make a scene. There had been a few times where rival gang or mob members would go searching through rooms for their unfinished business. It was ridiculous really. There was a time, a month or so back, when a ‘visitor’ had accidentally triggered a Code Blue because they didn't disconnect the heart monitor before trying to suffocate the patient with a pillow.

It wasn't that she worked in a ‘backwater hospital’. On the contrary, Clarissa Fray had graduated top of her class in both Undergraduate studies and Medical School before being matched to a premiere surgical internship and residency in New York. She had worked her ass off for her dream and it had come true. She loved this city and she loved her job. 

“... and then I told Kaelie that if she didn't have both the pre-op and the post-op notes in my locker by 2000 tonight I would- hey,” Mia said as my eyes focused and thoughts cleared, “where'd you go?”

Clary cleared her throat and shifted her arms, the edges of the folders digging into the soft crease of her elbow. “Sorry, you know how it is after a 48 hour shift.” She transferred the weight of the folders to her hip and chuckled. “You know I thought it was supposed to get better after residency. Same shit different year, yah know?”

Mia laughed outright, a deep and vibrant sound that resulted in her closing her soft honey eyes. “I swear the interns and residents get worse every year. We were not this bad. Anyways, Kaelie has 30 minutes to finally get this shit together. She wasn't in your OR right?”

Clary shook her head, wisps of red curls falling into her eyes. “For the record we were amazing,” Mias lips lifted into a smile at that, “and she was. I had her doing various things but overall she was fine. If she could get the paperwork side of things done… Anyway, she shows real promise. But the bags under her eyes aren't as big as they should be.”

“Oh god I know right?” Mia sighed fondly, obviously reminiscing about the shit they pulled together as interns and then residents. “I remember when we fell asleep in the observation room. I woke up only able to turn my head to the left and drool all over the case file. You, luckily, only had a couple inch deep sleep mark from the arm of the chair.”

Clary struggled to hide her smile. “Yah but my resident thought I had been attacked. I swear he wanted to file charges on my behalf. It also took hours for it to go away. I think I still have a permanent crease in my cheekbone.” Her anger would have been more believable if she wasn't fighting the full face smile. She rolled her eyes at their antics. Being an intern was a nightmare.

“Anyways,” Clary continued, “I need to get to the store and then home. I have the next three days off and I plan on never leaving my spud suit.”

The said their goodbyes and Clary walked off, glancing behind her as Mia entered a patient room. They had met at the hospital as interns both wanting to go into surgery. Mia ended up as a pediatric surgeon despite currently doing her fellowship in trauma. They had met and immediately hated one another. For whatever reason, for the first couple months, they went out of their way to fuck with the other girl. Only after the other interns started dropping like flies did they finally grow together and pull themselves through the hardest of times.

Not having enough time or, more correctly, energy to change, Clary grabbed her purse, backpack, phone, and keys. Having already deposited her lab coat in the community laundry bin, she walked out of the hospital and into the sunny August day. 

Despite her mother being a famous artist, despite her debts being paid off with her mother's help and through her hard work as a trauma surgeon, she lived in a shit apartment void of nearly everything personal. It wasn't her fault really, just how she was raised. Jocelyn Fairchild wasn't always a household name. While they were waiting for her art to take off, she lived in apartments like these with her mother and brother. Their father having died shortly before her birth. 

It was small but it was home. It also needed groceries if she wanted to survive on anything relatively healthy. 

She loved this city, she really did. One of the best things about it was the ability to walk or cab almost anywhere. She had always lived in cities where she could get anywhere without needing her own car, whether it was the above ground max and buses in Portland, Oregon, the trolley car, bus lines, or general compactness of New Orleans, or the subway systems of New York. Some of the cities may have not been big but they all supplied her with the ability to move without needing to drive or a license. In New York, from her apartment, it was two stops to the grocery center and two in the opposite direction to the hospital. It was relatively easy to get what she needed when the subway didn't break down which, based on the garbled New Yorker speech filtering into the sparsely occupied subway car, was exactly what was going on.

()()()()()()

Backpack and hands full of both frozen and fresh food, Clary was walking the final couple blocks to her apartment building. Night had fallen by now, and the heavy evening air was cooling off with the soft late summer wind. Dull streetlights lined the one way she lived on. In the distance she could hear sirens. Clary picked up her pace. She may have been an easy target but, compared to the things she experienced down in New Orleans, street muggers were nothing and- for whatever reason, maybe because their asses had been saved by people in scrubs -the mobs and gangs wouldn't touch anyone dressed in the average hospital attire.

Clary could also hear gunshots in the distance. Those were regular. She didn't have a lot to get used to when she moved from city to city, but the increasingly frequent gunshots were, to put it kindly, a rather unwelcome surprise.

It wasn't that the gunshots themselves scared her. It also wasn't that she was scared. Living in a shitty apartment led her mother to have a gun and, when it eventually had to be used by her brother, she wasn't scared. Watching that white man break into her home, watching his blood spill across her gnarled wooden floor, bleached by the sun, taught her what injury was. It taught her what her father's blood looked like when he was hit by a drunk driver. The papered walls and the old oak dinner table. Her home.

She was never one to be scared. She was curious, almost faultably so. It was no wonder then that, when she saw the man lying in the gutter of the street, Clart didn't keep walking. His huddled form could have easily been mistaken for a homeless person except for his garb. He must have been wearing a dark, either navy or grey, business suit- it was hard to make it out exactly. Hurriedly crossing the street she confirmed that it was a suit, and that he wasn't lying there of his own volition. Curled in on himself she could see was the blood all over his face and matting his hair, breathing rough and labored.

She took her bags and put them into her left hand, lightly rolling him over with her right. He moved with a groan and hiss. Even under the bright moon and pale street lights she still couldn't see the extent of his injuries. “Hey,” She said hesitantly, “hey! I’m calling the police. You need to go to the hospital.” Clary didn't know how responsive he was until he groaned out a ‘no’.

“No? But you need medical attention right now.”

“No hospital.” His eyes finally opened and looked at her. She was sure that, if they weren’t flat and corpse-like, his gold eyes would have been vibrant and expressive. Now though, they were hard to look at, sharing more with the bodies in the morgue than the . “You're a nurse right? Can’t you do something?”

Rolling her eyes at that- why did everyone assume that females in scrubs had to be nurses? Clary knew plenty of male nurses who were proud and accomplished. Besides, nurses were the backbone of a hospital. The equivalent of the blood of the body. Why did he have to say ‘nurse’ with such a tone? -she grabbed his arm and tried to turn him back over. “It's less than a block to my apartment and you’ll have to walk. First though, I need to check your spine.” Clary hesitantly took her fingers and ‘walked’ his spine. She felt for any step offs or abnormalities. Clary looked for anything that indicated for a need to be backboarded.

Feeling nothing of worry, she moved to hoist him onto his feet. With much struggle, the man was now standing and limping. She began with the basics, asking him about what happened and how it happened to what he believed the extent of the damage to be. She was lucky if a grunt of an answer passed through his lips. With his arm thrown over her shoulders, they walked to the empty entry and passed the hallway leading to the first floor apartments and the small office and to the stairwell.

Step by step, relief flooded her veins when she saw her door, toothpick still stuck between the door and the wall. The man leaned on the wall as she pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door. His gaze unnerved her. For some reason, instead of just calling the cops, she decided to take him with her. She, for the life of her, could not understand why of all things. He could die. He could die and then how the hell would she be able to explain the fact that there was a dead body in her apartment. He had a head and- easily -50 pounds on her. This could hit the fan in the worst of ways. What the everloving fuck would she do then? 

Home sweet home was an open floor plan room. Her door opened inward to a basic kitchen on the right, a wooden table in the middle. The floor was the old wooden floorboards, bed pushed into the far left corner with a dresser at its foot. Her bathroom in the closer left corner, small window across from the door. Home sweet home was a shitty apartment with only the most basic of amenities, but a wooden table and independently bought medical supplies would have to do.

She laid him on his back on the table. He groaned again. Clary ran to the foot of her bed where there were a few loose floor boards. She had accumulated various surgical tools and other necessary instruments that she could get her hands on from suppliers and stores. She pulled the black duffle bags with the light blue surgical symbol from under the dusty compartment. She quickly queued up her music, hoping to relax both her and him.

Setting them on the table next to him she ran to the kitchen and quickly washed her hands, doing her best to scrub in. Moving quickly she had on a mask and gloves before grabbing some kitchen scissors from one of the medical bags.

She began to cut the suit off of him. She needed to see the extent of the damage; the suit would have to go. Cutting lengthwise along his arm sleeve, up past his collar, and down past his torso, Clary was able to carefully take off the front of his jacket and begin peeling off the front of his button down dress shirt.

The harsh light from her kitchen casted shadows across his bruised and bloodied torso. The shirt clung to places where the blood had dried into flaky ruby pieces, staining the pale and washed out skin. Clary ran to her bathroom and grabbed the old- but clean -towels she no longer used and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Tucking them under her arm and emptying her laundry basket onto her bed, she ran back and set her supplies beside her medical bags. Under the kitchen sink was a couple gallons of unopened distilled water which found themselves next to the towels and bags. 

Grabbing one of the towels, Clary wet it and laid it on the pieces of clothing that were stuck. Slowly, as the blood became less congealed to the shirt, she was able to see the extent of the damage. With his shirt fully removed she could see the through-and-through gunshot wound to his lower right abdomen, resting an inch up and inward of his hip bone. A small cut decorated his torso a couple inches lower. 

Settling for packing both the front of the GSW and the back of the GSW with the clean towels, Clary moved onto his pants. Taking off his leather belt, she set it aside for when she would need to do stitches. From there, Clary took her scissors and cut lengthwise down his legs. She pulled what she could off of him, the cloth sticking to his inner right thigh until she wet another towel, and removed his shoes and socks. He was lucky. A little deeper and he would have been dead from femoral arterial blood loss. That had the potential to kill someone in under a minute.

Without seeing his back, she knew that it would be a nightmare. The poor man, who was probably not really a poor man, would have to survive a cleaning and stitches without even a localized anesthetic. 

Clary moved back up to his head. Taking one of her penlights she checked his pupils and mouth. His breathing began to calm in repetition despite it still being somewhat labored. Running her gloved hands through his matted hair, wet towel in hand, she couldn't feel any open cuts or sores or bumps that weren't supposed to be there. 

Going back to the gunshot wound on his chest, Clary took the emptier one of the distilled water jugs and cut it with the hydrogen peroxide. Using this new mixture, she wet another towel and began cleaning his torso. The muscles under her hands jumped in pain whenever she began to scrub a little too hard or around the GSW. 

Pulling out the suture thread, textured tweezers, and the toothed forceps, Clary began to prep for stitching the hole shut. She moved up to his head and lightly tapped his cheek. “Still with me?” She asked him. In all honesty, she didn't expect a response.

His eyes opened, duller than before. A gasping chuckle escaped and, despite the exhaustion and blood loss, she swore his eyes sparked. “As here as can be.”

Clary laughed a little at that. She had never conversed with a patient like this. It was a totally new experience. “I'm going to begin cleaning your GSW directly. I don't have any medication for you. Are you sure you’re ok with this?” 

She didn't know what answer she wished for but part of her was disappointed that he said to continue. Folding his belt and placing it between his teeth, Clary moved back to his torso. She grabbed her pen light and the towel wet with the water/hydrogen peroxide mix and began dipping into the GSW. As she cleaned, groans, hisses, and gasps escaped from his lips. As bad as she felt, it was more important to clean as much from the wound as possible. 

Grabbing some actual packing material from the med bag, she began to use the tweezers and her fingers to soak up the blood from in the hole. While she worked, the world faded away. The gunshots that would sound and the wind that would drift by lazily disappeared from her surroundings. She was no longer aware of the harsh but dull light from her kitchen bulb. It was no longer Clary in New York. It was Clary and her patient. The same patient that was getting blood on her shitty table. She really should have lain a plastic sheet down beforehand. The blood from the other side of the wound was slowly soaking through the packed towel and onto her table. 

Once the bleeding had slowed, she took the prepped suture material and began stitching the wound closed widthwise along his torso. His abdominal muscles kept shivering with every new poke and tie off. It was not the best job she had ever done, but it was the best under her present circumstances. There would be a scar, but it was another story to tell. Taking some gauze and medical tape, Clary set it over the sutured area and taped the edges of the sterile white bandage to his skin. 

Moving on to the wound on his inner right thigh, she cleaned around it. The injury looked to be the result of a knife, only one side was cleanly sheared while the other looked to have been ripped. Repeating the motions of the GSW, the stab wound was soon stitched and bandaged. 

Clary grimaced at the color of his skin. Some time between the stitching of the two wounds the man had begun to pale even worse than before. The sallow and sickly color of his skin worried her. “Hey. Hey you!” Clary moved back to his face. “Open your eyes.” She lightly tapped his cheek. “Open. Your. Eyes.”

With a groan, and possibly a few curse words, he stared back at her. 

“I need to flip you over. Don't worry, I’ll do most of the work.” She pulled his far arm and hip toward her, using the main points of contact to gently put him on his stomach. 

Clary took off the remainder of his clothing and began on that side of the GSW. Making quick work of the gunshot wound, she moved to the slash across his back. That was something she hadn't anticipated. Stretching from his lower right hip to his upper left shoulder, the wound was relatively shallow. Unfortunately, it needed stretch bandages due to the frequent use. It wasn't deep enough to warrant sutures, but it did need something so the skin could heal faster and easier. Moving his back would put tension on anything she used as a bridge to pull the skin together. Settling on lots of thin butterfly bandages, Clary covered the slash in the same way as the gunshot and stab wounds. 

Even though he was stitched and covered, his body needed nutrients. Usually, if he were in a hospital, bags of fluids and blood would be attached to him, restoring the lost nutrients. Instead, Clary grabbed her heat trapping army blanket and wrapped it around him, flipping the man over in the process. Pulling him up, she maneuvered him to sit in one of the chairs. Despite it being last summer and relatively warm, she could see the raised hairs on his arms. 

She took off her mask and gloves, throwing them into her trash. No matter how many years she had been using masks, taking them off was still the best feeling in the world. Picking up the wet towels, she put them in her laundry bin. A long laundry day was in her future. 

As she put her almost thawed frozens away first, she could feel his eyes on her. Clary grabbed a pot from her lower cabinets and set it on her stove, glancing at the clock. 0023. It was officially August 18th and, therefore, her 32nd birthday. What a way to spend the day. 

Turning around and leaning on her stove Clary looked back at him. It was lucky that she had bought soup earlier that day. She opened the chicken noodle one over the pot and turned the stove top on medium to warm it up. 

Clary turned back to him. “I don't have a nutrient bag, blood bag, or saline bag. Instead you are going to drink the broth from the soup I’m heating up. If you need it, my bathroom is behind you.” She grabbed a plastic cup from the upper cabinet and filled it with tap water. People didn't need the purity of distilled water to drink. He could have tap. 

She placed the water in front of him on the table. He was hunched over, camo patterned blacked wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It wasn't clothes, but it would have to do. At least he stopped shaking. “Drink up slowly. Your body just went through a trauma and it's going to take time for it to take anything other than fluids. Drink that and I need to get changed. 

Knowing that he couldn't turn around without injuring himself further, Clary felt comfortable taking off her scrubs and throwing on a loose t-shirt and running shorts. Clary moved back across the tiny room and back to the stove to stir the noodles. Every couple minutes she glanced back at the man. Slowly, he was drinking the water, his hand shaking less and less every time. 

Once the soup was hot enough, she turned off the stove and grabbed two bowls and spoons, straining most of the broth and some of the noodles into one of the bowls and put the remainder in the other bowl. She placed the broth bowl in front of him, the filled bowl across from him, and refilled his water cup. She filled the empty pot with water and placed it in the sink.

They ate in silence, the sounds of the city and soft music from her phone setting the post operation mood. She didn't know what to say to him. What did you say to someone who was found injured in a gutter? You’re welcome? She inwardly sighed, mentally exasperated. There was no handbook for this type of scenario. 

“Thank you.” He told her. Clary looked up at him. His bowl was almost empty and the cup needed a refill. “My name’s Jace and I think you just saved my life.” He cocked his head to the side, seemingly curious. Clary just looked back at him. “Usually, in polite conversation at least, you would reciprocate the introduction.”

He was cocky. She had to give him that. “Judging by the injuries you sustained, coupled with the past scars that allude to the same kind of treatment, you have not been hanging out in kind of crowds to use polite conversation.” She lifted another bite to her mouth.

He chuckled and lightly shook his head, matted blond curls moving in tandem. “You’re deflecting. But I’ll let that go. Bathrooms behind that door right?” He asked, pointing to the cracked door behind him. 

She nodded and he rose shakily. Clary watched as the man, or Jace as he called himself- if that was even his real name -moved past her bare 70s beach house wood panelled wall and into her dimly lit bathroom. It was only when that door closed that her only other door was broken open and through it marched an older man with curly black hair and dark blue eyes, people in tactical gear following his steps, their rifles raised.


	2. TDB2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!! I ACTUALLY MADE A SECOND CHAPTER TO A STORY!!!!!! Oh my god you guys!!!
> 
> Ok, I have soooooooo much to say!!! 
> 
> Wow. I did not think that I could do this. I know it's only chapter 2 but… I have a serious problem with planning multi chapter fics and then not following through with them. Just putting out a chapter 2 is a huge just… thing for me. 
> 
> Lets be honest, I'm probably going to post these chapters every day until AO3 is caught up... Oh well. 
> 
> Music- I have been listening to a ton of Imagine Dragons, Alvaro Solers Mar De Colores (Yo contigo, Tu conmigo, Fuego, and Nino Perdido are my favs), Halsey's songs across all three of her albums, some maroon 5, and Vivir mi vida by Marc Anthony.
> 
> Onto the chapter!

Jace was having a good day. It wasn't a great day, that would involve women and liquor. He’d get those things tomorrow, though. After all, you couldn't say no to the birthday boy. But regardless, today was a great day. The Circle meeting had gone according to plan and new discoveries were being made, like the mole in the port operation. It would seem that a house call would need to be made to this person. If you fucked over the Circle, you saw either Jace or his friends. Any normal person would wish to see his friends. 

Anyway, it was a good day. All that was left was to grab Jordan and Alec and high tail it to the person's house and teach them a lesson. It wouldn't be pretty but that wasn't his job. As heir to one of the largest up-and-coming corporations in the world, and the Circle, he was required to deliver a certain… authenticity to those who sought to cross him and his father. 

The meeting had disbanded a short time ago, with the three men, accompanied by his father, remaining behind at the appropriately named circular table. Jace glanced around lazily. Whatever his father had to say, he’d heard it before. ‘You need to settle down.’ or ‘You need to get more serious about the running aspect of the business.’ were Stephens favorites. Despite the blond haired man being almost 60, he was still active and intimidating- you had to be in this business. So it wasn't like they were hurting for a capable and competent leader. Jace still had some time before he had to really get serious about the leadership aspect. 

Jace caught Alec's eyes across the table and he could tell they were thinking the same thing. It was just another person who got a little too confident in their abilities. They, as a team, had taken down countless men and women who were in the position that this Emil Pangborn was now in. Even though Will was in Peru celebrating his anniversary, Jordan was a more than capable addition to the self proclaimed three musketeers.

Stephen cleared his throat, pulling the two men from their silent conversation. “As I said earlier, Emil Pangborn decided that our ranks were not enough. He has been selling information to various other groups, we don't know who he has sold to or what he has sold. At the risk of repeating myself, I sent Sebastian and Raphael to scout him out before you three get there. You need to figure out everything that even has the potential to be compromised.”

Alec glanced at Jace, eyebrow raised in a silent question. “All we have is his name and the place of residence he reported to us?” Alec asked their leader. “Do you want the usual methods of disposal?” 

Stephen nodded. “Yes, yes of course. I trust you boys.” He moved to stand from his seat. “Send me the information immediately after you get it.” Stephen walked out of the double doors behind him and into his private office where he would continue his role as CEO of Herondale Enterprises.

Jace looked back at Alec and Jordan. “Let's move this to the kitchen. I heard that Tessa made us brownies before she left for Peru.”

The three men exited through the double doors opposite of Stephens office doors and into the sparsely decorated entry hallway. The whole house had been designed and decorated when Jace was four. He, of course, had no recollection of it, but the browns and beiges told the story of an entirely male input. There was no color or decorations that would change the feeling of ‘house’ to the feeling of ‘home’. It was ridiculous to imagine that the only place Jace could remember growing up in… didn't feel like a home. That's not to say that he didn't like the house, he did. It just felt too impersonal.

Jordan and Alec sat at the table while Jace got the bags of brownies from the upper cupboards. “When do you guys want to leave?” He asked the other two. 

Jordan shrugged, “I assumed I’d just be following you two. The only reason I’m here is because your cousin’s celebrating.”

“We could always use another person.” Jace said to Jordan, sitting down beside him and across from Alec. “We,” He continued, motioning between him and Alec, “we were thinking of making this a regular thing. Will’s great and all but- and you didn't hear this from me -him and Tessa have been trying for a kid for a little while now. He might want a… safer occupation within the Circle or Herondale Enterprises.”

“Seriously?” Alec said, disbelief filtering through his voice as he grabbed a brownie. “Wasn't he the one who said that he didn't want a kid?”

“Yes,” confirmed Jace, “but that was before Tessa. She changed him.” He took a brownie from the bag. That was one good thing that came from having his slightly older cousin getting married and then living with him and his father. Tessa, even though she wasn't the regular cook, was excellent at it. 

He glanced up at Alec who shook his head at him. “Do you have the tools?” Alec asked.

Jace just nodded, mouth full. He rose and moved to the refrigerator. Taking out the milk he raised his eyebrow in question and they both shook their heads no. Too bad for them. Will may be a chocolate hog, but Jace certainly wasn't. Half the time people couldent believe they were really first cousins. Pouring himself a glass, he continued. “They’re in the trunk of the Honda. Dad told me earlier this morning over breakfast that they would be needed.”

The boys nodded along and continued to eat the brownies. Tessa wouldn't expect any when she got home… Right?

A familiar ring tone sounded from the table. Alec checked the screen and mouthed ‘Seb’ before answering and putting it on speaker. 

Gunshots and curses sounded over the line as someone's panting got louder. “... Fuck! He- shit -he found us! Raph was shot and- fuck! I- just meet us at the hospital- goddamnit!”

Alec looked at Jace, worry etched into his blue eyes. “We’re headed into town now. Text Jace the hospital he’ll be at.”

A car door slammed and all they heard was a mumbled ‘sure’ before the line went dead.

Jace looked at his two friends, his brothers. “You take the Honda in and relieve Seb and Raph. I’ll head to the hospital and check in on both of them.” He grabbed the brownies, placed them back in the bag and into the cabinet. The boys nodded and began readying themselves. “I’ll meet you at Pangborn’s house when I get done de-briefing Seb.”

They each checked the handguns they were required to keep on them at all times. Placing his back into his pants and under the back of his suit jacket, Jace watched his team walk to the Honda while he veered off to the lightly beaten up pickup truck. He trusted that his team could do this. The stakes were raised now.

()()()()()()

He pulled into the hospital parking lot a little past 1900, fully focused on getting to Raph's room. There had been an accident and then a closure on the way to the hospital resulting in most of his day being ruined by traffic. He hated New York sometimes. It was nice enough if you lived on the outskirts where there was room enough to live privately, but the city sucked. 

He called his main point of contact in the hospital when he arrived. They installed metal detectors a year or so ago and recently upped their security. Luckily one of their regulars was on Circle pay roll. He would come out to escort Jace, and anyone who needed into this particular hospital that was part of the Circle, into the building which allowed them to carry within. It would be pointless to shoot anyone anyways. Even with a silencer, gunshots still made a lot of noise. No matter how good your silencer was, silencers were also highly illegal and bulky to maneuver and carry around, noise would still be made. This wasn't the movies.

His contact, an orderly named Eric Hillchurch, came out just a few minutes later. The brown haired man was rather inconspicuous and dressed in, that he assumed to be, the grey orderly attire.

Jace hopped out of the truck and followed Eric around the back to the employee entrance. “What do you know about Raph?” Jace asked him impatiently.

Eric shrugged. “Your buddy brought him in and dropped him in the entrance of the E.R. then hightailed it away. I think he entered through the main entrance because I didn't receive a text from anyone except you.” Eric flashed his I.D. and Jace looked at the downward turned cameras. “He went into surgery and I don't know how that went. All I can say is that we’ve got our best on it but… we’re swamped. I don't know what's got everyone in a tizzy but we’ve had to reroute patients elsewhere. Whatever it is… I just hope you guys figure your shit out soon.”

Jace nodded, a little annoyed at Eric's nonchalance concerning the fact that his friend was shot. You would think that he would be a little sensitive to family or the friends of family of patients. 

“Fifth floor, third room on the left. I trust you can find your way there?” Eric told him before returning outside, fingers already pulling out a cigarette. 

As Jace walked through the halls he saw nurses and doctors running around. Every once and awhile, when he was walking through a particularly dense area, he could hear different numbers and letters being called out from people across the hall. He had to cross the entire hospital because, of course, he had to enter into the western wing when Seb was rooming in the northern one. 

He had to ‘make a hole’, whatever that meant, as a gurney was pushed through by a young blond woman. She yelled the command and everyone jumped to the edges of the hallways and even ducked into some of the rooms. She was cute, but in a professional way. Besides, she was too young. Jace was going to be 35 tomorrow and she couldn't have been older than 30.

Brushing off his thoughts, he entered the elevator after a dark skinned woman. She wore dark blue scrubs that hugged her obvious curves and a white ‘doctors coat’ that had her name and profession embroidered across.

Dr. Mia Roberts  
Pediatric Surgery  
Trauma Surgery

It was obvious that she was coming off of a stay at her home. Even though Jace hadn’t been to many hospitals, it was obvious which workers had been home and which had been pulling all nighter after all nighter. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She was appraising him, and not in a good way. It was more of a- what are you doing here -rather than a- would you like to fuck -type of appraisal. He wasn't intimidated, but he knew that there would be significantly more guards and he didn't want her to say something to them.

The elevator finally reached its height and Jace waited for Dr. Roberts to step out first. He saw the two armed security guards, they wouldn't step in unless they had a reason to, and a red head leaning over the nurses station counter a tall stack of files next to her. She was dressed like the other doctor… but there was something about her. She, despite having large bags under her eyes and a very pale complexion, seemed alert- like she was always on guard. Something you rarely saw from someone who worked as many hours as a doctor did.

He swiftly moved and ducked into the third room on the left as he heard a woman's voice address the doctor from the elevator. “Thank fuck you’re here Mia. I’ve…” the voice cut off when he shut the door. Putting his finger to his lips, he pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text telling Alec that he was in the room.

He looked up to see Raphael lying in the hospital bed, pale skin standing out against his curly black hair. His eyes were closed and he looked sickly and sallow and bruises stood out. Jace, frankly, was shocked when he actually looked at the man. 

“It's the blood-loss.” Sebastian spoke up from where he was curled into a hospital room chair. “The color of his skin.” he clarified. “He used to fuck with us because his heritage gave him darker skin and, therefore, he couldent burn. The color he prided himself on… it’s just… gone.” Seb shrugged and blew on his coffee. The dejectedness was obvious, if not from the way he held himself then from the tone he used. 

Jace looked back down at his phone. Did he tell the boys about Raph being an inch from death now or after the hit and interrogation? Deciding to postpone what had the potential to royally shit on their morale, he sat in the only other chair in the too white room. The hallways were grey and were a nice change from the hospital white. The rooms apparently didn't get the memo.

The heart monitor, other than the occasional breath to cool the coffee, was the only noise in the room. The whole floor and hall was silent. This entire thing was a mess. Sebastian and Raph were almost 10 years younger. They should have been fine on a scouting mission. The hits were saved for the ‘big boys’ or Jace and his team. Why this whole mission went ass-over-end was beyond him. “What happened? Believe me, it wasn't my intention to be sitting bedside of one of my men today.”

Sebastian looked up from the black coffee, his dark eyes regaining some of their clarity. “Honestly, I don't know. Raph and I have been on tons of scouting missions like this.”

“Just start at the beginning. I've got Alec and Jordan waiting. You’ll have to give the official report at a later date when, preferably, Raphael will be there to account for his half of the story.” Jace tried to come off as comforting. He knew that he was doing a shit job of it but… better something than nothing.

Seb nodded before continuing. “We arrived and immediately set up the distance surveillance equipment. We listened in on a call, whoever was on the other end was looking for something… or someone. It was never clear. They just kept shouting ‘find it’ while we watched Pangborn cower near the window. They never greeted one another with names and the number went to a telephone booth in downtown Bronx. We radioed it in and the tech team found that the cameras were looped. From there I went in to place a bug near the door so we could get better audio. I heard gunshots and I ran out to the car. Pangborn… Pangborn had shot Raph from his apartment window. That's when I called you and jumped in the car as he was reloading. I dropped Raph at the E.R. entrance and entered in the main way after throwing my jacket.”

So whoever he sold info to was looking for something. Fuck… more questions with no answers. Sebastian went back to staring into and blowing on his coffee. Clearing his throat, Jace began with his questions. “Is your piece in the car? And are you sure Pangborns alone? What about the surrounding apartments? Will he have to be moved?”

His response was flat and tired. “It's in the car under the back seat. As far as we could tell, Pangborn was alone. Most of the apartments are being refurbished and the contractors schedule was to leave at 1700. There is an old lady above him but, based off a call made to her, she's got a bridge game until midnight.”

Jace nodded at him, a motion that was lost since Sebastian was back to searching for the secret to life in his too bitter black coffee. He rose to his feet and moved to the door. There was no reason to stay any longer. That and because his gun was pressing horribly into his spine in the terrible chair. He turned the handle and exited the room, his head moving to catch his surroundings before the door was fully closed behind him. Jace found that, if you acted as though you were meant to be there, most would turn the other cheek and assume the same. 

He passed the two security guards in full gear and waited for the elevator. Checking the time on his phone, Jace saw that it was almost 2000. Night was falling and, if they wanted to make their move tonight, it would have to go down soon. The doors opened and he stepped into the small compartment. Jace dialled Alec number and waited for him to answer.

“Alec Lightwood.” His best friends, his brother in all but blood’s, voice sounded crisply from the speaker.

“I’m exiting the building now.” Jace told him. “We’re not going to talk about Raphael until after the shit goes down tonight. Let's just say that it's now with prejudice. Anyway, Pangborn should be alone. The apartments around him will be empty until midnight. I want a tac vehicle in the area because the only call he received was from the Bronx. They could be much closer now.”

“Noted. I’ll call it in.” Alec said as Jace walked through the metal detector-less exit doors through the main entryway. “I heard that Will was getting back early and- before you ask -I don't know why. Do you want to include him on this?” Alec asked. 

It was a valid question and it was Jace's decision. Ultimately, Stephen had placed him as the commander for this mission. “No. Let him settle back in. Only bring him in if it's important. Maybe he finally knocked up Tessa.” Jace pondered that for a moment as he turned the key on his truck. He could be an uncle. Well… kind of. Will was more like his slightly older brother than his slightly older cousin. After Will and Cecily came to live with them when Will was fifteen, they had sort of become siblings.

Jace pulled the truck onto the main throughfare and gave Alec his ETA before hanging up. They would have enough to talk about when all this was over. 

He drove through the streets and pondered upon just who would be looking for something, and what they were looking for. It could be the FBI or, if shit was really about to go ass-over-end, it could be the CIA. The Circle was starting to expand as Herondale Enterprises did. Most recently, it was a casino in China and a few German businesses. The Circle took that chance to establish trades and buyers in both China and Germany. 

There had been moles before who had been approached by various government organizations, but they were always found rather quickly. Whoever Pangborn had been conversing with was a professional who had money, resources, and the intelligence which kept the Circle from suspecting a leak. It was either another mob or a high-level resource intelligence officer with the government. If the government now felt that the Circle deserved more federal resources being thrown at it in order to infiltrate, then shit had hit the fan awhile ago.

So, as Jace pulled up behind Alec and Jordan in the Honda, he came to the startling conclusion that, out of all the horrible other things that went bump in the night, he wanted it to be a rival gang or mob. 

Jace hopped into the backseat of the Honda and was greeted immediately by Alec. “The tac vehicle is enroute. They had to wait for nightfall. People hanging off of unmarked vans in full gear tends to make the populace tense.”

Jace nodded in response and prompted Jordan for the results of his and Alec's scout trip. 

Jordan seemed surprised at the action, his eyes widening slightly before beginning. “Pangborn’s just been pacing around his apartment. There hasn't been any communication- text, call, social media access, or otherwise.” After this Jordan glanced at Alec hesitantly. Catching his eyes, Alec gave a comforting smile and nodded in Jordans direction before going back to tapping on his phone. Jordan continued. “Alec took traffic into account and whoever called from the Bronx earlier today has had enough time to reasonably gather troops and get their asses to this area. We've got a small army on the way and, if they bring an army in to aid Pangborn or if we trip something while in there and they get notified, it could get ugly fast. We didn't bring any tac gear so we are running in under some shitty circumstances.” Jordan finished. 

“Not the worst I’ve been in. Still’s shit though.” Alec spoke up from the driver's seat. “I had the tech department trace and listen to all calls from Pangborns phone and from the few remaining telephone booths in the Bronx.” Jace caught Alec's eyes in the rearview mirror. Just off of his expression Jace could tell that he wouldn't like his answer. “They don't have anything yet.

Jordan turned in the seat. “Couldn't that take months?” he asked. Jordan, though he had risen to the ranks rather quickly for not being family, still had some things to learn before he could be considered a part of Jaces team.

Both of the other boys nodded. “Suit up. We break down his door in five minutes.” Jace told them as he exited the car. Along with their personal pieces, they grabbed the bags with their interrogation tools and a second handgun. They took the staircase in near silence, boots making little echoes on carpeted stairs and reverberating off of the paint peeling and chipped walls. Dull street lights shone through the dirty blind covered windows making eerie black bars on the floor. 

Jace knocked the door off its hinges with Jordan and Alec on either side of him, their guns raised. His door led into an open room that looked to be a kitchen, dining room, living room mix, with various doors leading elsewhere- probably a bedroom or bathroom.

They fanned out, guns leveled and searching for the thin and white mustached man, thankful that the lights were on. Jordan fanned left into the living room, Jace went straight into the upper right corner to the kitchen, and Alec ducked to his immediate right into where the overturned table was pushed against the wall. 

Jace found Pangborn cowering on the kitchen side of the breakfast bar. He looked pale and drawn out, blue veins stuck out and deep bags were visible under his glassy eyes. His ghastly appearance complimented his wiry white mustache. He looked like Raphael had, only this was a product of the things he had done. This was a hole that he had dug himself and now he got Jace and his friends as a result. “Got him!” Jace yelled out. “Alec grab the chair. Jordan, the ropes.” 

Jace grabbed Pangborn and pulled him to his feet, bending him over the counter. He could hear Alec in the other room righting a chair and Jordan rifling through the bag. Alec walked over and held the gun on Pangborn as Jace patted him down removing two handguns, 3 daggers, and 7 throwing knives. Jace pulled him off of the wood counter and put him into the chair with Jordan tying him up. 

Something wasn't right about this though. Pangborn hadn't put up the same amount of fight he had with Sebastian and Raphael. Something was different. It was all he could focus on now. Something was fucked but… shit! He didn't know what it was. He looked down at Pangborn. Jace's face was a blank slate, betraying nothing. Glancing up, Jace saw Alec looking at him knowingly. If they hadn't grown up together, Jace would have been at a loss for what the black haired boy was thinking. Unfortunately, he could see in Alec's eyes that he believed something was fucked too.

Jace rounded up the other boys and they moved into the kitchen, each talking in hushed tones. “Somethings wrong.” Jace told them. “He put up a much bigger fight with Seb and Raph. He rolled over on us.”

Alec glanced at Jace questioningly before adding his input. “Maybe we tripped something…?” The end hung off in an obvious sentence.

Jordan looked between the two more experienced men. “Maybe he gave up. He knew that Seb and Raph were the pre-show. After injuring one of them, he had to know that we’d be the endgame.”

Jace nodded, taking both mens suggestions into account. “Either way, let's make this quick.”

They walked back to the man tied in the chair. Pulling the table closer, Jace unpacked their bag. Wrenches, pliers of various sizes, flat thin bamboo sticks, a hammer, needles, zip ties, a crowbar, knives of different sizes, shapes, and edge textures, and road salt were all pulled from the large black duffle bag. “My friend Jordan here,” Jace began, “is still a tad new to the craft so, as a teaching tool, he will practice everything that gets done to you… on you. How’s that sound? Good Jordan?” Jace turned to the dark skinned man expectantly.

“Sounds great Jace.”

“Wonderful.” Jace replied to Jordan, drawing out the syllables. “Who were you on the phone with earlier today?”

Pangborn laughed. Only… it was the hopeless sort of laugh. The laugh a person gives as they watch their life flash before their eyes as they get strapped into the electric chair. It wasn't a laugh. It was a hollow, echoey sound that mimicked what might be someone's last hope. “I’m going to die anyways. What does it matter how I get there?” He asked the men hovering around him.

“Tell us what you know and I’ll put a bullet through your skull. Any less and I’m not above drawing your last breath into a symphony. I’ve never conducted before but… I assume I’d get the hang of it.” Jace replied to him. Jace would move him if he had to. There were several shell company owned warehouses along the East river that were open for Circle use. 

“What does it matter?” Came the bitter reply from the man in the chair.

Jace sighed, exasperated with Pangborns attitude. “We could always move you and take our time.” Jace turned and grabbed one of the knives, unaware of how Emil Pangborns eyes widened behind him.

“No! No you can't!” He screamed at the three men. “They- fuck! They called it a contingency plan in case I ran and- fuck -I cant leave!” The man in the chair started breathing heavy. Gasping, wheezing noises falling discarded from his lips. His chest heaved yet, he couldn't seem to get any air into his lungs because he was still gasping.

Jace twirled the knife around his hand and waited for the man to calm down and explain. If he couldn't be moved then they were on a tighter timeline than they thought. 

This… fuck! This was a good day. Jace was having a good day. Somewhere, between the original Circle meeting where they, very early in fact, discussed the mole and the three men were tasked with taking care of him, to now when those same three men had the mole in the chair, sideways did not begin to describe the level that shit had gone. Jace just wanted a nap. He was tired. He needed a nap. After he killed Pangborn, of course. But he still needed a nap.

Alec was the first to speak during the man's wheezing. “So… what the hell? What the actual hell.” Not having anything else to say to that, Jace just stared back at his brother. 

“Should we… I don't know… slap him or something? Doesn't that work for people who are freaking out?” Jordan asked hesitantly. It was plainly written on the other men's faces that they had no clue what they were doing. Jordan probably just picked up on that. 

Having nothing else to do, Jace slapped the pale and, now sweaty, man in the chair. “Dude, seriously. Get a hold of yourself and just answer the fucking question!”

The man looked at Jace incredulously, his mouth hanging open comically. Clarity began to seep into his brown- almost black -colored eyes. He kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Jace ran his right hand through his curly golden hair. “Just start at the beginning. Who contacted you?” He sincerely hoped that this would finally yield some answers.

Pangborn glanced around nervously and his Adam’s apple bobbed on his thin neck. “It was the Grandiose. They cornered me about a week ago and put a chip in me. If I step out of the apartment then it… then it- it implodes and I become a vegetable.”

Jace laughed at this. Who the hell did he expect to believe him. The Grandiose. They existed only in New Orleans and the Mississippi River. “Not possible. There's no way that they got this far northward. The Grandiose wouldn't dare start a turf war on Circle turf. It doesn't add up.”

The pale and darkly clothed man writhed in his chair despite not being touched. “It’s- it’s true! I- I- I swear it! They were looking for someone. I was told that it was a woman- and I was supposed to find her here- in New York.” He told them. Eyes darting between the three men. “She- she was supposed to be short and they think she's a doctor here. I- I was supposed to give them a list but… you guys got here first.”

“So they never found this woman?” Asked Alec. Truthfully it was more of a statement. But, Pangborn only shook his head at that.

“You don't understand!” He yelled, drawing out the syllables. “You. Got. Here. First! The fucking files are still on my computer!”

Realization dawned on the three boys. The Grandiose were here, in New fucking York, and right around the corner. Jace looked at his boys as he went over to the window. His left hand drifted to his lower back and pulled out his handgun. With his right hand, he lifted the shitty blinds and peered out into the night. He saw the tac vehicle across the street, as well as the now leaning vehicles that he and Alec had driven here. If he saw the vehicle then the people that he could see hanging onto the vehicle had to have seen his shadow at the window. “They’re here and they popped the tire on our vehicles.” Jace said moving back to the group. He quickly lifted his gun and fired a single shot into Pangborns head, killing him instantly and without ceremony. Even though he had grown up in this type of environment, gunshots were still loud. Alec had begun moving to gather the interrogation tools and Jordan had grabbed the black laptop bag, slinging it over his shoulders. “You boys know the drill: scatter- get as far as possible and reconvene at one of the Circle owned businesses. Call our tac team. No survivors.” Jace looked back at his boys, both ready and raring to run. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He told them before darting out the door. 

Jace, reasonably, knew that his boys would follow him until they hit the street. The only problem was getting there. Gun shots sounded from outside. Alec must have notified the tac team. 

He shoved his shoulder into the next door neighbors door and ushered his teammates into the apartment. Almost throwing his loaded extra gun magazines at his boys, he spared them a glance before telling them to use the fire escape and that he was headed to the roof. They all had the same make and model of gun. The backup magazines would work for them.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jace reached the fourth and final floor before running up and into the cool night air. He could hear sirens closing in as a light wind combed through his curls, throwing them around his eyes. His suit jacket and dark pants pulled with the wind and Jace followed, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He was two buildings away before he heard the gunshots and saw light from their ricochets on the concrete in front of him. 

Running faster, he turned and fired three times at his pursuers. He heard two ricochets and desperately hoped the third had hit someone. Tripping over a slight lip, Jace went sprawling and he could feel new cuts and bruises decorating his skin. He got back up and started sprinting but the damage had been done. His lead was slipping. He still had a couple buildings before the next street and he spent that time searching the dark shadows for a possible escape route. 

He reached the next street too soon. Ducking behind a planter box, he took stock of his situation. Twelve bullets to begin with. Four had been fired so far- eight left. 

The wood next to his head splintered almost in time with a gunshot. Fuck! They, whoever they were, had locked onto his position. Jace looked to the next box a couple feet away and went for it, firing off as he ran. Glancing down he saw 4 bullets left and no backup magazines. 

Turning his head, Jace spotted his saving grace- a fire escape. He gathered the last of his wits, standing to fire at the men. He heard them curse out and a blazing pain ripped through his lower right abdomen. Placing his hand there, Jace hunched over and saw the blood that soaked the skin of his hand. 

He’d had bullet wounds before but it never got any easier. Shocked, Jace turned and fled to the fire escape. Rough hands pulled on the collar of his jacket and he went flying backwards onto his back. He stared up at the man who pulled him back, dark shadows surrounded his face. The man was wearing a tac vest and Jace could see various handles and magazines attached to it. Jace watched as the man went for a large handled knife attached to his back. 

Torquing his abdominals, Jace kicked out his legs and spun onto his feet by rolling over his shoulders. The attacker- Jace assumed it was a man -came at him and swung the knife in his right hand. Jace ducked back and watched as it passed over his head. 

Jace popped up and grabbed the attackers right arm, one hand on his forearm and one hand on his bicep as the man completed the rotation. Jace pulled his left knee up with the intent to kick the man's elbow in, completely missing the punch to his right side from the man's left hand. 

The punch was rather weak and lacked any real power. Despite that, it knocked the wind out of Jace and he stumbled back. The man had gotten a cheap and extremely lucky shot into the bullet wound on his right side.

He straightened despite the desperate need to curl in on himself. Bullet wounds sucked. Fighting with them sucked worse. 

The attacker came at him again, going for a swing. Instead of ducking, Jace stepped into his space placing himself between the man's right arm and chest. He could tell that he felt weaker. It had to be the bloodloss. He still grabbed onto the man's right arm though. The human need to survive was an astounding thing. So, Jace grabbed the man's arm and, with his left elbow, Jace thrust it backwards, finding purchase on his neck. The man stumbled and the hold on his knife loosened, left hand going to his now injured neck.

Taking his, now free, left hand, Jace pushed against the man's right hand and ran back to the fire escape. He grabbed the handles when a shooting pain sliced through his back from his lower right hip to his upper left shoulder. Jace chose to forgo the ladder, dropping the 10 feet into the metal platform, jostling his bullet wound making it flare with pain. 

He crossed his arms and grabbed the railing. Jace jumped over and twisted, his now uncrossed hands catching himself. He was now three stories above the ground, his booted feet resting on the railing of the second story fire escape platform. 

He started crawling down the outside of the escape. He could hear the sirens centered around where he believed Pangborn’s apartment to be. They were loud and everything over there was now so bright. Jace just hoped that his people had gotten in and out and cleaned the scene before the police would be able to see anything. 

The man chasing him had to go down the stairs which caused him to slow. Jace had a small. But gaining, lead on him. After a couple more seconds Jaces feet hit the ground and he ran.

Jace passed building after building, running blindly under the dim and dark streetlights. His booted feet making harsh pounding sounds were the only thing he could reasonably focus on. The pounding in his ears, a usually welcomed and cathartic sound, only served to remind him of all the blood he was currently losing. He needed help but… he didn't know where he was. 

Jace stopped and turned around. There wasn't anyone there anymore. He patted his back. His gun… what…? What happened to his gun? He- fuck! What… bullets. He ran out of bullets and now he… it just… uh… he lost his piece somewhere. Somewhere back with the other man and the fuckin’... um… the shot- he was shot! Shit.

Jace reached around his body and checked his pockets. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair. His phone was in pieces. The hard landing must have shattered it earlier… fuck. 

Not knowing what else to do, he kept walking forward. He realized he was walking to the city but… why didn't he realize that earlier. God, everything was so sluggish and just… heavy. He needed a nap. Fuck! Jace… he… he just wanted a nap. He was tired and sleepy. Shit so sleepy- too sleepy. 

Not being able to move any longer, Jace fell to his knees and onto his left shoulder. He laid on his side, unable to keep out the shiver that moved his whole body. Everything- everything hurt. His eyes were heavy- so heavy. Five minutes. He just needed a short nap to get his second wind. That was it! A nap… just a small… a short… nap.

His eyes closed, missing the woman who started crossing the street in dark blue scrubs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kind of feel like I cheated you on this- Sorry! -because I didn't clarify that I would be using any and all characters from all the Shadowhunter Novels that I’ve read. Whoops. Anyways when I wrote it I debated on who I wanted that character to be. I came to the conclusion before I posted it and if you or anyone else wants to know why I chose that person then let me know. 
> 
> -If you want to see more of a character in this fic let me know! You guys have so much more influence over me than you know. 
> 
> Side note: There will be ABSOLUTELY NO INCESTUAL JONATHAN. Incest is a slight trigger for me so I skip it on fic re reads and I dont put it in my fics.
> 
> Side note 2: There will be ABSOLUTELY NO VALENTINE MORGENSTERN COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD (at least in this fic). If (and I use that word sparingly) I do decide the venture down that route then that would be in a potential pt.2 (WHICH IS NOT SET IN STONE. As in I don't have a plot for that yet…). 
> 
> -Ok! I am shit at naming things so if you have a good title for any of the chapters I post then let me know and I’ll change it and credit to you! 
> 
> -If you have fic, song, tv show, or movie recommendations please let me know!
> 
> Please review. This is me begging.


	3. TBD3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> So the rest of my days gunna be kinda shit... Ive got a test and prep for a couple others so heres ch3 before I forget.
> 
> Anyways, without further ado. Here is chapter 3.

Jace wasn't in the bathroom but a couple seconds before a loud crash sounded from the other room and many sets of booted feet ran into the room. The calvary must have arrived. 

It took a decent amount of energy to get into the bathroom from the table, more energy than he’d care to admit. And now he had to go back out there. Fucking hell. Couldn't they have been any sooner? Like when he was still seated in the chair. 

He opened the door, the blanket slipping off his shoulder, unsure of what exactly he was expecting on the other side. Either way, he was surprised to see Will of all people holding a handgun to the woman's head as the people in Circle tac gear rummaged around her shit hole of a living space as he leaned against the doorframe and door. 

“Will?” He said, surprised. Wasn't he supposed to be on a plane from Peru? “What are you doing here and where are Alec and Jordan? We split up and I lost contact with them.” He asked hurriedly.

The curly haired man turned to him, eyes growing wider as they roamed around his body. Jace never would have told anyone this but, he was relieved that his brother was here. It was a crappy move to have him lead a tac team right after he landed but Jaces relief won out over his guilt. 

“They’re fine. They got to the safe house just a couple minutes away and told their account of the story.” Will told him. At that, Jace visibly relaxed. He could calm down now that his team was being taken care of.

Jace gave him a lazy smile, trying to put Will at ease. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. I decided that Halloween came early and, unfortunately, a mummy was all I could muster up.” Jace could hear the people around her apartment. A squeak and a scratching came from his left. He saw people pushing her plain black bed frame and bed around. Someone else was tapping the walls while others opened her fridge and cabinets. 

Jace turned back to see Will grimacing. He knew he looked bad but, at least he wasn't unconscious. In his most humble opinion, he looked better than Raph had. 

“How’d you find me? Cameras right?” Jace asked his cousin, a smirk loitering on his face.

That elicited a weary smile from Will. “It took a long time. We had a lot of work to do.”

Jace's eyebrows furrowed. “How long? It couldn't have been more than an hour or so.”

A laugh slipped through Wills lips. “Happy 35th, brother. It's officially August 18th and you’ve been missing for several hours.”

He heard someone near him in the room give an ‘all clear’ into the comm unit in the man's ear. Jace raised his eyebrow at Will in question. 

“Your father.” was Wills only reply. 

Well… shit. Jace's face fell in horror. If Stephen of all people was here to check on him then shit must have hit the fan in the last few hours. It couldn't be that long, could it? He was only out for what, like a couple hours? 

Stephen walked into the room in the same attire he had drilled into Jace from day one: a functional suit. It would allow him to look professional and competent. Those who knew him would respect him and those who didn't know him would inherently trust the professional look. The only problem, Jace didn't like suits. He could only hide a couple magazines and other defensive tools in them. Cargo pants on the other hand, those could carry everything and the emotional baggage that came with his life. 

His father didn’t address him, just walked into the room like a god and barked orders to finish securing the building and the way down to the transport. It was Jem that helped Jace off of where he was hanging onto the door and slowly maneuvered him back to the chair where he was sitting before his trip to the bathroom.

He saw the woman watching them as kind, silver haired, Jem had Jace's left arm thrown over his shoulder. He walked slowly and made sure to watch where both of the men stepped. Jace had never realized it but Jem might make a good nurse. He was kind and considerate, kind of like how the woman made him soup. The woman. Why were they always back to the woman? The same woman who looked surprisingly calm despite the mizzle kissing her hairline as she sat in the seat across from Jace. 

“Who are you?” Jace's neck cracked as he whipped his head around to see the speaker, his father. The stiff curls smacked against his face as he went. 

“Dr. Clary Fray. I work at the hospital down the road.” She told Stephen. Jace saw her eyes flick to the small gold circle symbol on the left breast of Wills tac vest. Her green eyes flicked back up to Stephen. “But I think you already knew that the same way you knew that the person you were looking for was here.” 

Jace could see the defiance throughout her posture and laced through her eyes like veins under the skin. “Why did you bring me here?” He said, interrupting whatever line of thought his father was travelling down.

The woman, Clary, looked at him and cocked her head, gun rubbing against her pale and lightly freckled skin. It looked as though she was evaluating him. “You were adamant about your lack of hospitals. Then you called me a nurse and went near comatose. What exactly do you remember?”

That was the question though. He didn't know what he didn't remember. He remembered getting onto the roof. From there he could remember flashes of gun fire and the sharp crack of ricochets. Running across rooftops and a man with a knife. Then it was flaming red hair and vibrant green eyes as they hovered over him and around him. Then it was pain and food. 

“No- not much. But I’ve never liked hospitals.” That was true. After his mother and his aunt… it just wasn't the place for him. Clary nodded at him. He could see compassion and empathy in her eyes. Possibly a shared experience? “Could you please remove the gun Will? Come on. I’m here and alive and it's thanks to her. Just put the gun away.” God. He was tired. He just needed an actual nap. The whole passing out while getting cut into just wasn't doing it for him. 

Will, thankfully lowered the gun and holstered it. Clary was clearly no threat. She also looked as though she hadn't slept in days. He knew most hospital workers had bags under their eyes and lived off coffee but she didn't look alive at all. Her smiles more closely resembled grimaces. She had the chance to analyze him while he was on her table. It was only fair that it was his turn for her.

Jace looked to his father and Will. Stephen's eyes were cold and harsh while Wills just looked worried. Worry for him. “Is it true what they say about the Grandiose popping up here? I knew I missed a lot in Peru but nothing of this magnitude.”

Jace nodded. “Yah. They were looking for a woman. Pangborn described her as short and a doctor. They didn't have anything better to go on.”

Stephen grimaced. “Nothing else?” Jace shook his head and Stephen continued. “Why would they use Pangborn of all people? Why not just hack into the roster of all the hospitals in the area?” 

“It does seem rather excessive.” Will added. 

They were right. Something wasn’t adding up. God Jace wanted a white board right now. His gold eyes met her green ones across the table. She looked… guarded. But that wasn't the right word. It was like all these emotions flew across her face but she couldn't choose one that fit. She just tried them on like outfits and threw them away once someone saw them. It was like she couldn't choose the mask that fit. He couldn't get a proper read on her. It was unnerving to say the least. He’d have to analyze that more later. “Do you have a white board and pens?” He asked her. It was a long shot but she was a doctor. Didn't they bring their work home with them?

Clary nodded at him. “Back of the closet, pens will be with it.”

He looked at Jem and, moments later, Jace was holding a blue pen in his left hand and began writing. 

-Knew-  
Pangborn was working for the Grandiose  
The Grandiose was looking for a woman  
The woman was a doctor and short

-Didn't Know-  
Why Pangborn? → Special or Available?  
Why this woman? → Previous contact or no previous contact?  
Did she know that she was being searched for?

The biggest question was, perhaps, why Pangborn of all people?

Jace leaned back in his chair. If the Grandiose was here, in New York, and looking for a woman, then she had to be important to someone high up. “They sent a tac team. How good were they?” He asked. Depending on the team abilities could give information into how high up the person looking for the woman was on the Grandiose ladder. 

Will glanced around. “They were good. We got them and put them down and cleaned the place before the cops got there, but not by much. They couldn't have been the Grandioses Alpha team.”

“So why this woman of all women? Why her?” Stephen asked. 

Jace just shook his head. “Maybe we should start our own investigation into this.” He suggested. “But after a nap. After a long and nice nap-” He could tell that his father was about to argue against that point. “-I mean it. No Circle meetings until after noon.” Stephen nodded in agreement.

“Great,” Jace continued brightly, “can I borrow your phone for a minute?” He asked, looking at Will. 

He handed it over and Jace internally cringed. Will, his cousin, his brother from another mother, had Tessa as his home screen. God. If Jace ever became that insufferably love sick he would want to be put out of his misery. On the other hand… he was now 35. 

Jace quickly took a picture of the white board and handed the phone back to its original owner. Jace stood and took Jems outstretched hand. He began hobbling to the door and down the stairs. Behind him he could hear Will asking Clary about follow up information, but he didnt care. His bed was calling to him and he would be damned if he ignored it any longer. 

He didn't remember how he got home, nor did he care. The only thing he consciously thought about as he all but collapsed onto the sheets was the fact that Jace still had her blanket wrapped around him and it smelled like her.

()()()()()()

Overall, the Core meeting went well. Of course, Jace had to hear that from Will because he was still sleeping. He thought a couple hours extra would do him well. Instead, Jace slept for over a day. 

To clarify though, the core consisted of the heads of the various departments. It was easier to group responsibilities and put someone in charge of that than to do everything yourself. It made sense and worked well. The only problem was when someone, like Pangborn, made it to that level of trust and security, only to throw it away. 

When Will told Jace of this, he wasn't upset. Even if he was asleep, the world turned and, as such, the Circle and its machine like cogs still spun. Everything his father built and created still functioned. Holding a meeting without Jace in attendance wasn’t the most unusual thing that would happen. Someone would have to fill the empty slot at the table though and, usually it was Will. 

What was infuriating though was when Will himself notified Jace that he was ‘untrustworthy’. And, now, Will held that position. He had tried to pawn it off as ‘Your father just wanted your focus to be solely on the woman. It’s temporary.’ Will had said this, to Jace's face. 

Maybe Will did believe it. Despite what everyone else thought, Jace knew that the year older man had a heart of gold and the loyalty of a golden retriever- despite Jace looking more like one. Will wouldn't undermine him. Hell, he had said before that he didn't want the job and the pressures that came with it. He was happier living with Tessa and being all… domestic. 

So, that was that. All the Core meetings that took place in his house, he would not be invited to. The person at his father's left hand was now Jaces cousin. 

Now Jace was wondering why he even bothered to get out of bed. Their resident Circle doctor, Magnus Bane, had prescribed various antibiotics and medications to ease the pain and to prevent infection. Of course, Jace would only take those to prevent infection. He had always hated medications.

But that didnt matter because he was fucking furious. God! Jace hadn’t been this mad in… God! In so long. But he just… fuck. He was livid. Mad, angered, enraged. He couldn't think of a single word to explain just how fucked over he felt by, not only his father- whom he expected this of -but Will too. Jace and Jem were co- best men at Wills wedding. And then this happened. 

The strange part was that he was so mad he couldn't move. He didn't want to move. He just fumed there in silent anger. Jace, he didn't know what to do. He was obviously going to find this woman and then take back his mantle as heir but, beyond that he didn't have a clue. 

So, instead, he sat there, in the parking lot of their tech warehouse, fuming. He didn't know why he was a silent mad though instead of a loud one. Everyone else screamed and was emotive. Jesus what was wrong with him? Was it his father's influence? Was he just born like this? Either way, Isabelle and her newest boy toy were waiting for him inside and he did not have enough time, emotional stability, or alcohol to unpack all of that.

Jace had driven a small and inconspicuous Hyundai to the warehouse. He had Clarys camo blanket in the passenger seat and- he was totally ready to drop it off at her apartment with a giant thank you but -he chickened out. He wanted to but having the subtle scents of coffee, vanilla, and salt invade his car, his bed, and, frankly, his life was far more appealing. 

So, he kept it. He kept the blanket and he didn't feel a goddamn thing but smug. 

On the outside, the warehouse was a tall, dull, and inconspicuous building. The windows were one way, with the people inside being able to see out, and the rest was a dull brown color, bleached by the sun and in need of a new coat of paint. 

The lobby however, was rich and vibrant, yet easy on the eyes. His pseudo sister's brain child, of course. 

Isabelle was waiting for him in the lobby with a scowl on her face as she tapped away at her phone. She was sitting on one of the cherry red leather couches that, somehow, managed to fit in with the modernly professional chrome and orange themes of the entry room. He only knew this from the swatches that were laid out on his dining room table months ago. 

Jace could still remember how she stook out her tongue in thought as she took colors and put them beside one another with the blue prints. It took her weeks to decide what she wanted to do with the space and most of that time was spent in his house bent over the table asking for input from anyone who ventured into the mansion. 

She had followed up with taking him, Tessa, Will, and Alec everywhere she went to look for pieces to compliment the scheme she had chosen. He never did know why she dragged him everywhere. Will followed Tessa, who was more than happy to help, and Alec was in constant talks with Magnus about what she should and shouldn't buy for the building. In all truth, Jace believed that Isabelle dragged him along so he wouldn't be lonely. She was constantly doing things like that these days. Jace wasnt that old though.

She looked great, as always, wearing a pencil skirt and patterned shirt- or was it a blouse? What was the difference? She looked up and, if at all possible, scowled deeper. “You’re late and now that time is being taken out of my date.” 

He lightly glared in response and decided to level with her. Maybe some sympathy points would soften her face. “I’ve had a couple days. Between being shot, having surgery on a wooden table in an apartment with no meds, sleeping for like 30 hours, and being replaced by Will, I’ve had a couple days.” It was the truth. He just wanted to get this over with. Also, so what if he was late? It wasn't like she could be dating this person for long. 

Izzy rolled her eyes but a slight fondness entered her features. “Follow me. Simons through here.”

They walked through the doors and into the first floor of the warehouse. Rows and squares of cubicles spanned the floor. They walked through and Jace peered into a couple of the squares. Most had multiple computers and phones along with small photographs. There were a few personal touches beside the necessary things. 

They walked to the elevators on the far wall, her heels clacking the entire way. The most surprising thing was how little people were on the lower floor. Upon asking Isabelle, she replied that they liked to work on the upper floors where there were more plants and a more open floor plan. 

Jace saw what she was talking about when they reached the roof, or the third and top floor. There were sun tarps pulled over the roof, shading the numerous employees that were sitting amongst the couches, tables, and other accents, like plants. Those that were not occupied had plastic draped over them. 

She led them over to a lean but filled out man with slightly unkempt brown hair. It was a sturdy brown that was disheveled. It was more of the ‘just rolled out of bed’ than the ‘just had hot sex’ variety. Other than that, he was fairly plain with round glasses drifting down the bridge of his nose, plain black jeans, and a t-shirt with a bunch of circles on it with faces. One of the circles was saying “don't be a Boron!” to the other circle. Jace didn't understand it.

Nevertheless, the man- Simon, he must’ve been -looked up, setting his computer beside him on the plush couch he was sitting on. He greeted Isabelle with a kiss on the cheek before reaching out his hand to shake Jaces. But, all Jace could think of while they shook and said quick introductions was that Simon had kissed his sister. Sure, it was a cheek kiss. And, sure, it was rather quick and chase. But still. He had, thankfully, never caught Izzy in a compromising position (Alec had and, for weeks afterward, he could never look her in the eyes). 

So this was the man that Izzy had a date with. Simon. Honestly, he didn't expect it. Simon sat back down and grabbed his computer, motioning for them to follow.

Jace moved to sit on one side of Simon while Izzy sat on the other. Both peered over the dark haired man's shoulder and watched as he taped away on the keyboard, clearing this and that from the visible screen. 

Simon looked up at Jace. “So what are you searching for?” He asked.

“A girl. She's short, a doctor at a local hospital, and important to the Grandiose for whatever reason.”

The dark haired man nodded and began tapping away. “Let's start with the grandiose first because short is arbitrary and there's thousands of doctors in the area.”

The man began tapping away at the keyboard and lines of code few across the screen. It took a couple minutes before they saw any results. Frankly, Jace had no idea what was going on. Stratagem and business made sense. People, their motives and dreams and passions made sense. He could never quite understand computers in the way that the tech people could. But he knew how people would act and react. He had to in this business, it just helped that he was good at it.

“Most of their video files are here. They’re just missing a couple hours worth from a few years ago. Which…” Simon's face scrunched up and he kept opening and closing files at random, “is weird. Everything else is preserved immaculately. It's like someone scrubbed those hours from it. Then there's no more for that warehouse.”

“What was the warehouse used for? What was stored? Can you find that in the past footage?”

Simon rewinded the footage quickly and the people on the screen ran around. Suddenly there were cages in the room. Then they had people in them, girls and women of all different ages. It was a holding house. For the people they would sell. 

Isabelle spoke up for the first time since they sat down, breaking the heavy silence. “Wait. When is that?” she asked. A hesitant curiosity evident in her eyes and voice.

After a few taps, Simon had an answer that obviously rocked Izzy. “Halloween night of almost 11 years ago was the last time these tapes rolled.” 

“Well,” Jace began inquiring, “can we get those back?”

The dark eyed man pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Maybe. I can see what code was used to destroy it though.” 

The man kept tapping. Jace could see Isabelle on Simon's other side biting her lip and tapping on her phone screen. She had a fair amount of responsibility in both Herondale Enterprises and the Circle. Decorating was a passion but being a lawyer for both was what she actually got paid for. 

Simon started beside him. “This… um. Ok.” He kept muttering. “This… huh.” Simon chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “So… this is my code.” He began hurriedly. “Or more specifically, this is code I wrote when I was in high school to clear the game server my best friend and I shared. Even though she didn't understand a lick of what I was doing, she helped and looked over the code. It worked a little too well and fried all the game servers in the area. We were juniors at the time.” 

Jace pondered that. “Whatever happened to your friend and how old was she?” He asked.

“She's my age- 32. I went to MIT, and I don't know what happened. She and I had a falling out after her brother left during the summer before senior year.” he looked genuinely sad about that. “She and I grew up together and… I dont know.”

Jace rolled that around for a minute. So, essentially, it had to be the friend. Unless it was someone else who could recreate the code easily. A code that Simon had created, unless it was easily replicable. “Would someone be able to replicate this easily?” He asked.

Simon snorted. “No. We-I was an idiot and to anyone who knew code, it would look like mush. It does look like mush. I never quite figured out how it got to be so powerful.” His tone had taken on an almost wondrous quality as if he drifted into his own mind about the code. “It would be almost impossible to replicate. Furthermore, it would be improbable to. No one would want this.”

“Why not?” Jace inquired.

“Because it doesn't make sense.”

“Why doesn't it make sense?” Jace fired back slightly exasperated. “Speak to me as if I don't know anything about code.”

Simon snorted derisively. “That's not hard.” With a glare from Jace, he continued. “We write code to be efficient. It can be hard to read for those who don't have a lot of experience with it. If two pieces of code can execute the same command, we would choose the shorter piece of code. The longer the code, the more that could get… messed up and render it either inert or unusable. The code I created is extremely redundant and has a fair amount of unnecessary code pieces that aren't directly connected to what we would want the outcome to be. No one would want this code and no one could come up with this exact code either.”

So, if it wasn't Simon, it had to be the friend. It had to be this girl that erased the footage of the warehouse. But that begged the question of why. Why would someone need to erase the hours? And why was the Grandiose so intent on getting this girl back? He had the pieces but putting them together was proving to be the hard part. 

Izzy interrupted his thoughts by shoving her phone in his face and saying “Look at this!”

Jace took it from her hand and read the article she had pulled up. It was about a warehouse that burned down Halloween night almost 11 years ago. The very same warehouse that the video footage was missing from. It said that they theorized that it wasn't a normal fire since it was hot enough to burn everything to ashes. They didn't know the body count because they couldn't find any DNA but had assumed that, if there were people, they were dead. Pictures accompanied the article and they were horrible. It was blackened concrete with piles of black ash scattered around. Giant trees outlined the edges of the land. The location was posted as an hour outside New Orleans. 

“So this is why the video doesn't pick up past the wiped parts.” Jace said. It was more to himself than to the others next to him. “It's a logical conclusion that whoever wiped the video also set the fire, malicious intent.”

The couch and people felt numb and desolate, like they didn't quite know what to do with the information. 

“What was your friend's name?” Jace asked, voice devoid of emotion.

“Clary. Clarissa Fairchild.”

It looked like Jace had another house call to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2.0: 
> 
> ~What should Jaces nickname for Clary be? I’ve heard various writers call her ‘Midge’ from Battle of the Bands and ‘Tiger’ from Protecting Jace. I love both of these but I’d like for her to have her own, you know?
> 
> ~I am still hoping that people will help me name my fic chapters (its a non expiring offer). I am not picky and you will be given credit. 
> 
> ~Also, I am not perfect. I do not claim to be. If there's something about my writing that could be improved upon please don't hesitate to let me know. I love constructive criticism!
> 
> ~Please review. Just please.


	4. TBD4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> So... my midterm sucked ass... Im probably going to need a calc tutor... Just ugh.
> 
> Writing, for me, is really stressful. It takes up- what I like to call -my reservoir of sociability. Basically, no matter how much I want to write, I just don't because it depletes my supply (I’m sorry, I don't know how to spell reservoir and I’m really lazy right now so supply will have to do). I haven't spent time with people because of Corona so, over time, my supply has gotten smaller. This makes it hard and depletes it even more. Reading, listening to music, watching TV, and generally existing in my bubble around others raises my supply. I don't know why writing decreases instead of increases but that's the way it is. If you have tips on how to change that then please let me know. It will benefit both you and me and my other readers. 
> 
> Songs that have been on repeat for me:  
> ~Bird Set Free by Sia   
> ~Helium by Sia  
> ~Revolution by The Score  
> ~Born For This by The Score  
> ~Weak by AJR  
> ~All Time Low by Jon Bellion  
> ~Happier (Stripped) by Marshmello

When Mia asked her how she spent her birthday, Clary didn't know what to say. Mias wiggling eyebrows meant that she was hoping that Clary got laid. It wasn't that it had been a long time, even though it had, but Mia was constantly encouraging the devil on her shoulder that told Clary to ‘have some fun’. They had different definitions of fun, but it worked. Mia pushed Clary out of the safe space she had built around herself- for good measure, mind you -and Clary reeled Mia back a little bit. 

She knew that Mia was hoping that she relaxed on her birthday with some liquor and another body in her bed. Part of that was true. There was a body, it was just on her kitchen table and not her bed. Though she had wrapped her best blanket around him. She still didn't understand why she did that. 

On one hand, he needed warmth. On the other, she didn't have to wrap her favorite blanket around him. It was special to her… and she'd never see it or him again. Clary still didnt know how to feel about either one of those realizations. 

Either way, her birthday consisted of surgery and then having her door replaced because of the dark haired dick breaking it open.

So, she lied to Mia by omission. Clary told her that there was a body- a man to be specific -though Clary had done some experimenting in college (hadn't they all). But Mia believed her to have gotten down to some kinky fuckery on her table instead of surgery. It was fine. Better than her knowing that Clary had willingly patched up a Circle member under the table. But still, she couldn't take Mia seriously when she said kinky fuckery. 

It wasn't the lie. Clary was fine with lies. It also wasn't the fact that she said ‘kinky fuckery’. Frankly, a lady never kisses and tells. But, between friends, she had definitely gotten down to some ‘kinky fuckery’ in the past. 

It was the fact that, as they were talking about Clarys birthday and, adjacently, her sex life- or lack thereof -she was assisting Mia on a childs surgery while residents, interns, and surgical nurses were all bearing witness to an almost confessional between friends. If it had been on break, that would have been fine. But no. Mia had to bring up the fact that Clary hadn’t been laid in over a year in front of everyone. 

Through the glasses, Clary could see the uncomfortable expressions on the male nurses and interns faces. They were doing their best not to look in her direction but, since Clary was an integral part of the surgery, they needed to look there. The light blue disposable mask that covered her mouth and nose did little to ward off the blush and redness that overtook her face. In fact, since she was dressed in dark blue scrubs, a blue mask, and the dark blue galaxy cloth surgeons cap, it made the redness stand out. Her curly dark orange hair, tucked into a braid under her surgeon's cap, accompanied the redness of her face exquisitely. Mia, to her absolute acceptance, was unperturbed by the subtle glances that the women were throwing around like it was gossip hour in the locker room and the men's inability to meet anyone's eyes. 

So, as Clary had her hands elbow deep in a bloody childs stomach, she politely told Mia to shut the fuck up. Lovingly, of course. Meanwhile, Mia steamrolled ahead about how amazing it was that Clary was ‘back in the game’.

Eventually though, between the comforting and familiar thrum of the heart monitor, her gloves inside a child's chest replacing his kidney, and Mias soothing voice, Clary was able to think more deeply about the man on her table.

It had been a couple days, but she still didn't understand why she pulled him off the street or didn't take him to the hospital. At least everything turned out for the better, though she wanted her fucking blanket back. 

A gun to the forehead wasn't necessarily ‘the better’ though. She would just have preferred if Jace had told Will to drop it immediately.

Wait… when did Jace, always said in her mind with a sarcastic, slightly condescending, and wholy disbelieving tone turn into Jace? It was some time between when he lightly flirted with her, despite having a GSW and a laceration, to when his face briefly displayed the horror at having his father enter the room. The slip in his mask screamed ‘daddy issues’. Though, never having met her own, Clary had enough of those herself. She had never quite gotten over the fact that he was dead. 

Her family, her beautiful little family, was sitting pretty until her father died and she was born. The loss of his income, the birth of a new child, and her mother's need to support both of them while working two jobs took a toll on her and her brother. 

Her brother. She hadn't thought of Jon in… years. Not since she could finally leave New Orleans. She wondered what he was up to. In honesty, he was probably working a 9-5 job and hating his life. Clary hoped he was. It might be a little vindictive of her but she moved to New Orleans, partly because of university but also to find him. Jon, for whatever reason, had always felt closer to their father than their mother. He had talked before about searching for their fathers family, which was from New Orleans, but it was in abstract and intangible ideas. Then, he left. He left her and her mother high and dry with little regard to how they would feel. 

Then, Clary had moved to ‘the big easy’ to find him. Then shit hit the fan. Then she got out as fast as possible but not before picking up some skills and her medical and undergraduate degree on the way.

God, her mind was circling. Circling, the Circle. The Circle, the Grandiose. It was one big miserable cycle of depression and family issues and blatant escapism. She was an emotional, mental, and physical mess. 

The Grandiose knew she was in New York and that she was a doctor. And that, yes, she was actually really short. At least she was going through an emo phase while in university. Her hair was black while the shit with the Grandiose went down. Afterwards she never redied it.

Clary would still have to leave though, to protect herself and/or Mia. She’d change her name again and move. She had a fairly impressive resume and would be wanted by hospitals. Maybe she’d go to Hawaii. Hawaii was nice every time of the year. She could learn to surf. 

She had always hated her full name. Clarissa. It just wasn't her. She could change her name to Claroline and still be called Clary as shorthand. She went from Fairchild to Fray. She could change to Frairson. Claroline Frairson. It was a mouthful, but it would do.

Clary kept moving her hands mechanically. It wasn't the first time that she had helped replace a child's organs with Mia. They acted as a package deal as much as possible. It was helpful to meet the children's parents or guardians as a unit so that they would know that there was a surgeon capable of operating on their child at any time. Mia and Clary weren't the only team, there were others, but Clary and Mia were the most effective. 

That was part of the reason Clary had been called in. A match had finally popped up for the little boy and Mia had called Clary in for the assist, which was fine. After the people from the Circle left her house, she gathered up all of the bloody rags and her dirty clothes. She took bleach and cleaned her table and the excess blood. Clary threw Jaces clothes in the garbage and cleaned up things before collapsing in bed. 

Clary had slept for over 24 hours before waking early the morning of the 19th when the light had broken through a crack in her drapes, and made herself a smoothie for breakfast. The person she hired had just finished installing her new door and, as she was gathering her clothes to wash, Mia called her and needed her to come in. 

So here she was, up to her elbows in blood as Mia began connecting blood vessels and arteries to the piece of liver. It was a rather easy process that would be over soon. Then she could get to her wash. 

They had a resident close and finish the child's sutures and temporary bandaging. Mia stripped off her gloves, guard, and face mask, tossing them into the appropriate bins. Clary followed suit as Mia began the more indepth interrogation, questioning whether or not there was actually a guy.

“Of course there was Mia.” Clary replied, exasperated. There was a man. She just didn't know the juicy details. 

“What about you?” Clary continued, trying to change the conversation. It wasn't that subtle. “You finally get the man of your dreams?”

Mia let out a bark of a laugh, short and deep. “I don't know. I met a bodyguard-slash-trainer named Jordan and he seems pretty cool. It's date one in a couple days.” She said as they walked through the hall, bustling with nurses, residents, and interns. They parted for the attendings but there was still action, even on the lower floor. 

Clary pondered this for a minute. Lots of men called themselves bodyguards or trainers in this city. “Did you meet him when he was on the job?”

“No, I was on the job. I was checking on Santiago up on the fifth floor- I think. One of your residents’ interns fucked up so I checked over their revised version and signed off. Didn't want to interrupt any sleep or kinky fuckery, you know.

“Anyways Jordan was there sitting by Santiago. I had one of the security guys check that he came through the front door.” She said, a conspiratorial tone obvious in her words despite the still wiggling eyebrows and hints of a smile.

Clary's eyes rolled at her friend's antics. It was basically second nature by now. “Whatever Mia.” Clary replied with a smile. They had reached the attendings’ locker room. Mia still had some time left on her shift so they parted ways. Not that Clary needed to spend more time at the hospital. 

Mia kept walking and Clary got to her locker. Stripping off her scrub top, she put it into the backpack she brought. Various other attendings filtered in and out of the locker room as she changed into a loose fitting grey tank top and cotton shorts. There were rules against nudity but the doctors and nurses were all desensitized to seeing other bodies. Skin was skin. No one commented on other peoples bodies. They were all almost or over 30. They were adults and they acted like it. 

()()()()()()

She knew someone was in her apartment by a trick she learned in the movies, or rather a TV show. It was Wolfgang from sense 8 who first brought the trick to her attention. 

In the TV show there were a lot of people trying to kill him. Not unlike Clarys life. Wolfgang meant to piss people off and kill people though. Clary… well… she didn't like to think about that. Anyways, he stuck a toothpick on the outside of the door so that it would drop an inch to the floor if opened. 

The people that would be awaiting Clary wouldn't be the type to leave a lot of scratches or any other obvious marks. They would move silently and swiftly as though they were never there.

She knew someone was inside because her toothpick was on the ground. 

It had been less than 48 hours since she found out that the Grandiose knew that she was in New York. They could move fast but not that fast. It had to be someone from the Circle in her apartment. 

She took her key and made sure to open the door noisily. There was no need for someone to get startled and start shooting at her. If they were going to kill her then it would have been when they first found their man in her care. She made sure to get the key out before opening the door. 

It took all her control to keep her face blank as she saw the curly haired man from a couple days ago, Jace, all clean and bushy tailed standing with his back to her at the stove while a smartly dressed black haired girl and her best friend from a past life sat at her table. The same table that Jace had bled on. 

It had to be him, she determined as she moved further in. It had to be Simon. His curly and tousled hair hadn't changed from when they were kids. Neither had his glasses. They were the same plain and giant rimmed ones he got after breaking the other ones playing Jedi at her house when they were eight. 

It was the people that blindsided her first, the smells that hit her second. There was something fantastic brewing on the stove. It had a heavy aroma with light sizzling and popping noises from something liquid boiling. It smelled amazing. There was a very… cajun sense about it. It was like she was back in New Orleans. Like she was back in the blasted city walking back to campus. The stupid party that was bound to be cought by the cops. And then that blasted cage. 

Clary shut the door behind her and tried to calm her breathing. She didn't know when it had gotten faster, just that it had. She couldn't… Fuck! She didn't want to relive what she regularly did in her nightmares. Fuck. 

Even though Jace didn't turn to her, Clary could tell by the set of his shoulders that he knew she was still in the room. The other two though, were focused on her. Her friend, Simon. Simon. The kid she was raised with from the time they were toddlers. The kid whose glasses she broke playing Jedi. The kid who went with her to a school dance because she didn't want to go alone. Simon. Her ex-best friend who she went to comic-con with because she didn't want him to be hassled. She dyed and tamed her hair to go as Leia while he went as Luke. Her best friend. Her Simon who was now looking at her with a unique brand of horror on his face. It was one that she had only seen once before on a mother of a shooter who got shot in return. It was like you couldn’t believe that the person who you gave your heart to could really be the person everyone is talking about. You trusted your family to an almost implicit level. He looked at her, not as though she were a ghost, as though he finally saw the ugly truth. 

That was when she knew that the only person who she wanted to understand her never would. That was when she knew that the only person she would be willing to talk to was Jace. 

Stephen had walked into the room with such an air of confidence and assertiveness that Alpha basically radiated off him. It was some of the same way that Jace held himself now. Jace had to have been the Circle heir. It was all hitting her at such a blinding speed. The picture finally made sense.

Walking over to her bed numbly, Clary took the scrubs and put them in one of the two overflowing baskets of dirty clothes. She would be doing the wash today. That was a given.

The rich and softly spice aroma wafted over to her bed and, she could tell, would begin clinging to the fabrics, infusing her apartment with the scents of a past left behind. He knew. This was New York and he was cooking traditional cajun foods. Foods that had loitered on every corner and alley in New Orleans. That and the faint smell of tequila.

Jace knew who she was and Simon had found out- probably from him -and now she found and lost her best friend in less than a second. 

Someone cleared their throat and, even without words, the intent was clear: it was time to eat. Clary turned and wandered back to the table. 

She couldn't- She wouldn't talk about her experiences with Simon. Not, not now. She wanted that piece of her life to remain pure and golden. Everything else about her was a mixture of greys and blacks. Half the time, Clary didn't even feel good. She felt fine, but not good. If she could keep this- him -the one white golden colored spot in her life then, maybe just maybe, she wasn't as damaged as she thought. 

Clary didn't know how it was for him but, when her brother left before her senior year, she became depressed. Everything was thought in theoretical terms and philosophizing about the inevitable question of ‘what came next’. She was becoming murkier and deeper and, instead of the beautiful waters of a clear ocean, she became a marshy and weed filled pond. Clary didn't want to pull Simon deeper then, and she didn't want to do the same thing now. She was so acidic that fish could no longer live there. At the time, she didn't know if she could either.

These thoughts ran unbridled through her head in the most horrible circle ever. If there was a pun, it wasn't intended. She sat down in one of the mismatched chairs while Jace rummaged for bowls. 

It was a great seafood gumbo but, despite not having eaten since earlier that day, everything had left her with a bad taste in her mouth and appetite empty. All she could do was manage a few bites as they ate in silence. She didn't want to talk to them and they were not forthcoming. It was her apartment. Clary did not feel obligated to speak her truths. Maybe it was petty. It certainly felt petty. However, Clary was quickly discovering that, in this moment and this scenario, she was not above petty. Besides, if she could stay in this limbo of no confirmed information, then she wouldn't have to address it immediately. She could keep on pretending in this limbo state of nonbeing as the world passed time but they passed moments, bite by bite.

Whoever was going to incite speech into their silent evening, however they were aiming to do it, was going to be awkward regardless. Between the blonds life she had saved, the ex-best friend, and the black haired girl she didn't know, it was going to be miserable and bad. 

Eventually, it was Jace who broke the silence by noisily sliding his chair along the uneven floor and grabbing everybodies bowls. “Was it not good?” He asked softly as he dumped the remnants of her bowl down the drain. 

Where she found her voice, she didn't know. “It was fine.” she replied, hollow. Clary had not spent so many years putting up a front of ‘I’m fine’ for it to fall apart now. 

God, her thoughts were spinning and spiraling. She inwardly groaned in frustration. Today was not going to be a good day. She needed some power back. Everything was being determined by Jace and the entourage. If she could get a little choice or power back she would feel better about this mess. 

She also needed to do her laundry. “I have to do some laundry.” Clary told them. “Only one of you can come with me.” There, she thought. Give them a choice that really isn't a choice at all. It was obvious that Jace would be joining her. He was the one who gave orders. The black haired girl, while competent with an air of intelligence, was a follower and Simon had never been one for authority. He also had the look. Or the look of horror that he had earlier.

True to her thoughts, it was Jace who accompanied her to the laundromat. After a brief protest from the black haired girl, Isabelle she soon found out, they were packed into his car and on the way. Clary had kicked Isabelle and Simon out when she left and they drove off in Isabelle's car.

Usually, since Clary didn't have a car, she would ride the subway or walk. Riding in Jaces small black Hyundai was different. She didn't know if it was a good difference or a bad difference. It was a temporary difference though. 

Clary grabbed her clothes from the back and they walked into the familiar building. Setting her clothes down on the center tables, Clary took out the bloody towels and set them aside. She grabbed her white clothes along with underwear and threw them in, paying the machine. 

She had postponed as much as possible. “What do you want to know?” She asked Jace. 

He was seemingly startled by her abruptness, pausing with his eyes widened slightly. “Did you set the fire?” He asked her.

She nodded while beginning to sort her clothing loads. “Yah. I set it and used some accellorants that I made and found. I didn't imagine that the fire would get that big and powerful. I was extremely surprised.”

Jace seemed to roll that around for a minute. “So you don't know why it was so devastating?” 

“No.” She replied firmly. “The minute I could, I got out of that warehouse. I just ran into the swamps and hitchhiked my way back to the city.” It was hard for her to hitchhike. She knew that, realistically, she couldn't walk the entire distance. It was simply too far. So she had to trust someone. Clary, after being taken had to trust the first person she encountered. Luckily, the first people to stop was a group of girls coming back from a road trip. They dropped her off in the city and she was able to walk or ride the rest of the way. 

“So…” he began, catching her attention and dragging it away from her inner musings, “you set the virus.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, in her opinion. Which was fine as it gave her room to correct him, if need be.

Clary shrugged, not wanting to take credit for something that Simon rightfully created. “I just copied what I remembered seeing. As I’m sure you know, Simon and I spent a ridiculous amount of time on it. Well… it was mostly Simon. I’m still not great with computers.” She replied, laughing at the memories of her poor attempts at helping him, an easy smile decorated her face.

They were silent for a minute while the world turned. Most days she was doing her laundry, it was fairly full with various patrons working the machines. She was always calmed by the machines and the humms and whirs of the cylinders that turned over the clothes inside. It was similar to the heart monitors that beeped steadily throughout the hospital. Pieces of her life meshing together in a kaleidoscope of sounds. It all reminded her of the rain and the way that the clouds would pull off of the mountains. It reminded her of home and how the rain would pound away at the roof. It was always so loud and the juxtaposition of the noise versus the calming effect it had always intrigued her. 

If she thought of home, she would have to think of the trees that grew up seemingly from nowhere and the vibrant sunsets that were a rainbow of colors. If she thought of how there was a flash of green between the hazy yellow and baby blue as the sun set, then that would eventually lead to her mother and brother and the family that fell apart. Her mother took inspiration from the beauty surrounding her and, as much as Clary tried, she could never recreate the feeling of home into her art. Clary found that nothing she created was as amazing as the original.

Instead of letting him break the silence, she did instead. “What else do you want to know?”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me the truth?”

Clary rolled that around. “Anything I tell you will be my truth. However, I might not tell you everything.” She replied.

“Why?” he asked her, curiosity evident in his voice and features as his eyebrows rose slightly. He was expressive, very much so. It was different when Stephen marched into her apartment. In that moment, he locked down. The man that teased and flirted slightly over the soup broth was a world away from the immovable stone face he had for his father. If Clary knew anything it was that, around your family and friends, your walls were down. It seemed to be the opposite for him as Clary was neither friend or family. 

Clary just shrugged at him. Eventually she would learn to read and understand him. It was the same thing she did to Mia and to every other person she came across after New Orleans. “I guess, since you already know about the fire and the virus that, it's pointless because, eventually, you’ll figure it out.” Clary replied carelessly. Eventually, if he was any good, he would figure her out. She would also make sure to return that favor, if she was still in New York in a couple weeks. 

His face scrunched in disbelief. It internally surprised her that he would be so expressive. Even though she had thought about it already, it stumped her. She never did well with puzzles, always having to finish them and figure them out. He was… well, he was a puzzle.

“Anyways,” Clary spoke to him again, having to raise her voice above the increasing number of people and machines being used, “what else do you want to know?”

“I guess just start at the beginning. Tell me your story.” He prompted softly, running a hand through his golden curls. 

So she did. Clary told him of how she was walking back to campus from a party in the city on halloween night when a man jumped at her. She told him how the party had taken a turn for the worse with drugs and alcohol being passed around readily so she left. You couldn't be found with illicit substances if you wanted to get into medical school. So she left. 

Clary spoke, haltingly now, about the fact that she was wearing a fun costume that left little to the imagination when the man came up behind her. 

In between scrubs of the crusted towels and loads going in and out while other patrons paid them no attention and the machines hummed, Clary spoke about how she was dragged to a cage with other girls and women. That the bars on the cage made her feel trapped and powerless. The other women and girls were scared and silently looking to her for safety.

“I don't know how I escaped the cage.” She told him as she folded her multiple pairs of now clean scrubs and asked him to do the same. “I just don't. I may have started fighting the man who came with some food. I don't know, but, somehow, I managed to get someone's gun and set of keys.” It was a blur for her. A blur of adrenaline and split second life changing decisions.

“Either way,” she continued, “I got out and hid from them. I remembered seeing what looked to be a kitchen so I moved there. I took some very basic kitchen ingredients and made an accelerant. It was just some chemistry.” She recited her experience like facts from a medical ledger. It was a series of actions and facts that she made and recited. She could tell that her voice was void of emotion because she was void of emotion. She talked as though it was a series of events she had been made to recite but not experience. Clary distanced herself to save herself.

She went on to say that she started a small fire in the kitchen before unlocking the other womens cages. “It was adrenaline that fuelled me. I always knew that I liked it and chased it but… this wasn't the blood in your ears pulse in your breath tingling sensation you get from a good adrenaline high. This was…” Clary took a breath before continuing, getting lost in the memory, “it was clarity. I could see, hear, feel, taste, and smell everything with such clarity. I remember thinking that I could taste the spices in the air from a meal they had previously made. Everything was dialled to an eleven and, suddenly, I knew exactly what needed to be done.” she explained to him. 

Clary had always known that she chased adrenaline. Despite being small and seemingly fragile, adrenaline was and would always be her drug of choice. Whether it was from a rollercoaster or from the trauma rooms, it was a fantastic high. 

But her experiences in New Orleans was something totally different. Instead of the cloudy high and weightless sensations she got from a rollercoaster, it was a stronger and more powerful version of the clarity she achieved in the trauma room. 

Even that was different though. Clary learned what to do in the trauma rooms. She learned surgery and scalpels. Down in New Orleans, she didn't know how to hide and fight. That was new. However she saw every single move before she needed to make it- like a giant game of chess. It was clarity, but it was like seeing through clear clean glass instead of tinted and touched car windows. 

“Half the time,” Clary continued in a lighter voice as the towels went in, the jeans went into the dryer, and people walked around them in their own little bubbles, “I think I’m crazy. All I want to do, with every fiber of my being, is to experience that again. But I can't. It will get me killed. Even though I learned how to fight and shoot and defend myself, I can't find the courage to jump into that again. So I supplement myself in the trauma rooms and surgery, wishing for something I can't have.”

She paused in her work, staring at her thin and long surgeon's fingers. She didn't need his acceptance. Clary didn't need him to understand or to feel similar to her. She didn't need anything from a stranger she met under impossible circumstances just a couple days ago. But that didn't mean that, when he nodded, golden hair turned pale under the harsh fluorescent, she felt a burst of hope in her chest that maybe- just maybe -she wasn't entirely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2:
> 
> ~I always appreciate your reviews! It fills me with joy and I doubt that will ever get old. I don't want to pander for reviews but... Anyways, just know that I really enjoy seeing that I got an email saying I got a review. It is literally amazing!
> 
> ~Do you have questions or concerns? If so then please voice them. I do the best I can but, I am not perfect. If something seems amiss- it probably is!
> 
> ~If you have any recommendations- like song, movie, TV show, ect -also let me know!
> 
> ~Literally anything is better than TBD (To Be Determined). If you have an idea for a chapter title or the fic title please let me know. I literally have no clue...
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a great day!
> 
> Also. I have two stories that I can do after this one. Both are on my FF and are ATLA. Please do me an immense favor by voting for the story you want to see on my poll. Thank you!


	5. TBD5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the last chapter was actually a big chapter (the second biggest of this story to be honest). I wasn't even going to mention Jon or his escapades for a while but… INSPIRATION hit like a bitch slap to the face. So… here you go. I have very little to say on that…
> 
> I think that, this chapter more so than any others, presents a future I wanted for myself and yet felt was unattainable. I told you all that I am infusing pieces of me into these characters and, I guess in Jon, he is the future I want but cannot have.
> 
> On a much happier note! -Songs!
> 
> ~Morning in America by Jon Bellion (Thank you WeStanAHerondale!)  
> ~Start A War by Klergy with Valerie Broussard  
> ~Beginning of the End by Klergy and Valerie Broussard  
> ~Roots by Imagine Dragons  
> ~Unsteady (Erich Lee Gravity Remix) by X Ambassadors  
> ~Everybody Knows by Sigrid
> 
> All honesty... this is because on person and their fantastic reviews. @SkylaRose thank you.

For as long as he had been a military man, getting called into the commander's office would never become easier. Even though it was just a warning to shape up or ship out- one that Jon had purposefully earned to keep his cover -they were always the same.

He had been working for a while as a liaison with this unit and it never got any easier to walk through those beige flaps into another hotter-than-balls room to speak with another overblown asshole with a stick shoved so far up his ass that Jon could see it wiggle as he talked about things he did not understand. 

Sure, this guy was a grade A asshole, but he also found that grade A assholes had existed since his time at Annapolis. They always took one form or another. This one, apparently, took the form of a stick up the ass Army commander that used his limited knowledge to boss a 34 year old man around for the fun of it just because Jon was a liaison and not actually in the unit. 

That was part of the mess. He was here with someone and on a confidential job. That was what he hated. He was here undercover and so was Lightwood and all he needed was a good nap and a cold pool. But he was stuck here and the only good thing about this shit mission was that Gid was here with him to suffer.

This whole thing was a game of politics. Jon didn't have jurisdiction because he was there as a side piece and didn't have any authority. He was placed as a Naval Officer in an Army encampment in the middle of the desert and it didn't bode well for him at times. This wasn’t the biggest mess he had ever been in. That was either sophomore year at Annapolis when his friend was murdered in a ‘training accident’ or when the other recruits realized that he got into the academy in one of the Master Chief's childrens slots courtesy of his dead father and decided that he was undeserving. 

That was another thing, Jon thought as he chewed on the mess hall food after the meeting. His father. A man he barely remembered and yet looked a startling amount like. He remembered when he first found a hint of his father down in New Orleans. After working for a year or so he had taken his money to the Big Easy and searched for his father. 

He was in and out of various high schools and colleges and bars for months just searching for any record of a Valentine Morgenstern. He had finally gotten a lead after someone claimed to have seen a ghost. After chasing wind and trying to catch it in a mesh net, someone had come up to him in the dark bar and told him that few people had such platinum blond hair. He asked if it was natural and what Jons name was. After a few awkward questions, the man had come out and claimed that Jon was the spitting image of Valentine.

It was in a dark bar and he was dancing with Seelie- or maybe her name was Cleo? He didn't know or care. He was sure she was a local college student, where he didn't know or care. She was hot and he was sad and in desperate need of a pick-me-up. 

After grinding together for a couple hours in the bar under the lights, he had gone to grab a drink while the girl had gone to the bathroom. He was sitting at the bar sipping his new favorite, a straight scotch when an older man had approached him and claimed ghost. 

It had been an… interesting experience, talking to the golden haired man with light blue eyes. Apparently he was down south for some business and wanted to stop in for a drink at a favorite bar. This man- Stephen, he called himself -had met his father in the Navy when both of them went in for spec ops training. How, for whatever reason, they had bonded over food and mentalities. Jon, even years later, could remember the exact words that Stephen said. “And, in that moment, I knew that he and I were of like minds and, therefore, would eventually become best friends.”

Stephen had never specified what ‘like minds’ was but, seeing and knowing someone who was influential in his father's life was like knowing his father. Somewhere, under the music and the lights, Jon had equated knowing Stephen to knowing his father. If only just a piece. Eventually though, Jon had to tell him that Valentine was dead. That he was killed years upon years ago in a car accident that neither man knew much about. 

Where Seelie went, Jon didn't care. He was content- no, he was happy -to listen to the stories of a father he never got to know. 

Stephen told him of the time that both of them got completely wasted. It was the first time they had made landfall and had a few days of liberty. How, in a bar just like this off the coast of California, Valentine had wandered back to his ship late at night and went one too far. Valentine, in his crazy days at sea, went one giant class light cruiser too far and winded up in the equivalent of his rack on someone else's ship. 

They sat at the sticky oak bar laughing about how Valentine saluted as he came on deck of the right ship- after waking up and quickly running to the correct ship -and his pants had fallen down leaving him in a pair of boxers saluting the national ensign. 

Jon hadn't laughed in ages, in forever. He couldn't remember the time when smiling and laughing came so easily and naturally to him. There was something about the disarming persona that Stephen radiated. He realized, deep down, that he was looking for a father figure within the older man, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. Jon ate up the sea stories and no shitters, committing them to memory.

The patrons were winding down as Stephen told Jon about the ceremony Valentine received after making Master Chief. Stephen said that there were three times in his life when he cried without being physically injured. Once when his son was born. Once when the doctors told him that his wife died shortly after giving birth to their son. And, lastly, when he saw the golden anchor with two silver stars being pinned to his best friend's chest. And now, fourth, when he shed a single tear for the best man he had ever known. 

The tone went from joyous to melancholy to grateful throughout the evening with Jon seeing but not believing. Here, in front of him, was a man who had seen his father go through some of the biggest things in his life. 

After that night, Valentine Morgenstern wasn't a man on a mantle. He wasn't just a blond haired and dark eyes man that Jon closely resembled. His father wasn't a myth, a legend, anymore.

Their family was lucky if his mother would mention a story of him. She never talked about how they lived in San Diego and would bring up alcohol from Tijuana every couple weekends. She never talked about the life that they lived together before he died. 

Jon never assumed that Clary understood their father. He was a ghost even more so to her than he was to Jon. That didn't stop him from finding out everything he could. Jons next step was to find who his father was. 

It was sometime after that realization, but before they parted ways, that Jon realized that he needed to know his father and what he went through. So Stephen told him about the two Master Chief spots at the United States Naval Academy. 

And when they parted ways, Jon with the scotch that he still hadn’t finished, he went home and looked up what he would need to do. 

It was later that year, sometime in late July, that he received a summons to come and appear at the academy in Annapolis, Maryland to verify that he was the son of Valentine Morgenstern and that he was mentally and physically ready. 

Throughout his academy days, Jon excelled. He realized that all the learning he did in school was a waste. Sure he had some basic science, math, and social studies lessons to learn. They were fine. As long as he studied, Jon passed with high marks. It was languages and the military history where he truly shined. The languages just stuck like glue and the strategies and military tactics just made sense. It was almost… instinctual. 

This was, unfortunately, why he was in the middle of the Middle East eating food that, by a regular person's means was terrible, to him tasted fine.

So what if it tasted like the dust, dirt, and rocks of the terrain in which he was surrounded. It was sustenance and, at the end of the day, it didn't matter. Food was food no matter what it was or where he was. That was the truth. The food was shit, the pay was terrible, but the benefits were pretty good. The only terrible part was the fact that it was late July in the middle of the summer in the Middle East. He was born and raised in a rainy climate. Not this hell where he poured sweat out of his boots every evening despite the fact that they were vented. 

He was just here until his CO allowed him to pull out and move on to bigger and better things. Jon wasn't even allowed to speak to anyone about the real reason he and Gideon were here. 

In the meantime though, he would be eating dirt and pouring out sweat in the hopes of finding something the Seals could use to make a move. This was the part that he excelled at: being a chameleon or a wolf in sheep's clothing. The other teams were much flashier and decked out in full battle rattle whereas Jon acted like the rejected frat boy as a front. He was the subtle infiltrator to their flashy kevlar.

As Jon was looking down and contemplating the choices he had made that lead up to this moment in time, a pair of familiar legs stopped in front of him. “Dropped your comb.”

Anyone else, and Jon would have told them to fuck off. But less politely. He wasn't some greenhorn with his first haircut. Jon had learned over the years not to look for a comb, or buy shampoo but once every six months. However, this was just Gideon fucking with him.

“That's as bad as ‘Look! Over there!’ and having nothing be there.” Jon replied, fluctuating his voice to match a light and giddy tone at times. 

Gid sat down with his own tray of food in front of him. “So… Gabes got his final eval coming up in a couple weeks. What are you thinking? He's going to go our route?”

Jon finished chewing on his corn, thinking about which eval it could be. “Is it already the final eval?” he asked in disbelief. If it was then time had flown by. 

Gideon nodded at that and picked at his food. “Yah. Soon he’ll be joining us. Where I don't know but I’ve already got the go-ahead to bring him into the group wherever we go. I just can't believe it's almost here you know?” he stated more than asked. 

“Same shit, different day. The desert allows us the mercy of forgetting but living that.” Jon stated back to Gid. They didn't need to talk to understand one another. That was the good thing about their friendship. Words, especially words that had a high potential to get them killed, were discouraged. The silence suited the wolves perfectly. Besides, if they had a lively conversation going on then some of the younger years could try to join. They were the ones who ‘dropped their combs’.

Jon had never met Gabriel, Gideons younger brother, but had heard that they looked similar with the same green eyes. Green eyes. And, somehow, he was always back to the sister he had left. 

Despite getting his head on straight, even though it was never really sideways, he never contacted his sister or mother. He had no student loans- the Navy had taken care of that -or any previous debt. He had no reason why he couldn't be independent. His mother worked as many jobs as possible after Valentine died to feed and clothe two young and growing children. As Jon grew up, as he started to look more and more like Valentine, like the husband she had lost, Jocelyn had pulled further and further away. 

He knew that, logistically, they needed the money. However it was easier for her to go to Clarys events than to go to his. His high school football team went to state but, instead of watching the biggest game of his life, she stayed home to paint and answer emails in the hopes of her art business getting off the ground. Her name, or rather her maiden name of Fairchild, had been mentioned around him a couple times before but not even Gideon knew of the relationship he had with his mother. 

His thoughts, like his emotions, were scrambled when it came to his family. The absent mother who doted on her look-alike daughter and the sister who was both a fantastic sibling and was also the bane of his existence. But that was how siblings acted. They had a love hate relationship based on antagonization.

Clary always had the brightest green eyes. They would light up at the sunsets and fireworks, the light highlighting her cheekbones, the only thing she got from their father. He loved messing with her until her hair matched her face. She knew that he did it too. Clary wasn’t oblivious to his antics as an older brother. 

With Gabe possibly joining them, Jon didn't know how to feel about his family. He was both left, and he did the leaving. Even though we was older- they were both older -Jon still missed the time they missed out on. 

He missed driving her to school in the hand me down beater. Windows rolled down as she sang to the blasting radio. Even then she had a unique voice. How her hair would fly around in these crazy curls of fire when she was the most carefree and happy. It was then that she had no masks and no expectations, just laughter and movie marathons of superhero movies where she shipped something other than canon. Jon still wondered if she had kept the necklace he had gotten her from the only vacation they had been on. He wanted her to have something of him and of the place where their entire family was happy. 

He missed his sister, his built in best friend. Gideon was a great replacement but he wasn’t the girl who could go from hugging him on her birthday to chasing him around with a fork when he pushed her head into her cake. It was an ice cream cake too. 

If Jocelyn died, he would miss his mother. He was attached, yes, but she had started becoming more and more distant as he grew older. Yet he couldn't bring himself to confront his past with her. 

He missed his best friend though. 

-*-*-*-

“How much longer do you think we need to sit here?” Gid quietly asked Jon in the dirty concrete room. They were in the first days of August when the break they had been waiting for came through. The Army unit they were liaised with had caught the head of one of the largest terrorist cells in the area. He was a Middle Eastern and middle aged man who was responsible for several botched bombings. However, the most important thing was that he was, somehow, leagues ahead of the Delta squad and the Seals.

They didn't care about this man. They cared about who he got the information from. That person was the endgame. Except, the commander who was running this interrogation, and who had also called Jon into his tent a couple weeks ago, didn't know the real purpose of Jon and Gid’s mission. So, eventually when the guy slipped up and confirmed that he knew the information during an interrogation they were not running, Jon and Gid would step in, pull rank, and get the people they needed here, then get out of this horrid desert. 

They two men were only in this room because they, purposefully, said that they had no interrogation training. Ever the saint, the stick up the ass commander decided that he would be their teacher. And, yep, Jon could still see that stupid stick in the back of the commanders throat as he ‘taught’ Jon and Gid what theyaleady knew.

The commander looked at them expectantly. Frankly, Jon had not been paying him any attention. Not only did that action further validate his cover but, in all reality, they had received far better training with the Seals. 

Luckily, Gid had been listening, though not very well, and answered to the commanders satisfaction. Instead, Jon took the time to analyze the man in the chair. He hadn’t been touched yet and wasn't sporting any glaring injuries. He was, however, chewing at the bandana tied around his mouth and glancing suspiciously at Jon and Gid. 

Leaning over and almost resting his chin on his sandy haired friend's left shoulder, Jon spoke quietly to him. “He knows who we are. Look at how he keeps working the gag and glancing at us.” Jon could feel more than see Gid prickle at that realization. 

Gid dropped his shoulder and Jon turned his face back forward. It was a signal developed by habit. Gid turned his chin to Jons shoulder and spoke back to him, careful to keep quiet in the damp and dirty cement room. “I say wait for a verbal confirmation. No one here knows and it was kept strictly in house.”

Jon nodded his agreement before dropping his shoulder. Nothing more needed to be said while they waited for the commander to get this show on the road. 

Jon didn't care if the man got hurt. He chose to ally himself with a losing cause and, in all honesty, if he rolled on his informant he might live. It wasn't the best thing in the world but, that was life. If there was one thing that Jon had learned it was that this world was kill or be killed. Jon also learned that the only person who will stand by you is yourself. 

Sure it was nice to have others, like Gideon and- soon -Gabriel. But it wasn't necessary; they were a luxury. He didn't even have his family and that was after his mother had drilled into them that the only people that would have their backs was family. That and, after she died like their father, Clary would be all he had. 

Jon had to redefine what he was and who he was without the pressures of his family breathing down his neck. He could remember from a young age that Clary wanted to be a doctor. Their mother put her age at three but both Clary and he believed that to be false. 

Either way, when the youngest child claimed that they wanted to be a doctor, high hopes were set upon all others. Jon couldn't tell people that he didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. There were all these pressures to be a lawyer or president that anything else would be deemed unacceptable. 

So, with the help of Stephen and the Naval Academy, Jon rediscovered himself outside of his familial ties. Meeting Gideon and going through Seal training together was the best decision of his life. Something that could only be possible thanks to Stephen. 

When the man in the chair confirmed that he knew about both Gid and Jon, chaos broke out. The commander looked on in disbelief while Jon called their CO for an extraction and a prisoner guard. 

When, only a few hours later, their CO, a burly man who stood heads above the rest, showed up with the paperwork and their badges, the commander showed himself to be a kiss-ass. Practically singing the praises of Jon and Gid that their covers did nothing to deserve while their CO stood by, unamused.

When, in the final briefing, Jon told his CO that he could see the stick up his ass poking out from the back of his throat, the CO laughed. An honest to God laugh that no one had heard before. Later when Gid asked what the dying cat was in Jon and the COs meeting, Jons only reply could be his COs laughter. They went on an indefinite amount of liberty shortly afterwards. 

When Gabriel showed up with his budweiser- and the still healing injury to his chest where it sat -neither Jon nor Gideon were surprised. They both knew that Gabe would come out of it to join their mini team. 

When, after everything, Stephen of all people asked him- and any friends -to come and help with a situation in New York, he said yes. He landed in New York City with Gabriel and Gideon less than 24 hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2:
> 
> Something that I was really worried about was your reactions to Clarys' back story. I was worried that it would either be perceived as cold hearted and vengeful or as malicious when both book Clary and this Clary are not. Thank you all for writing and putting your input. I really do appreciate the fact that you reacted the way you did but were also genuine in your reviews. 
> 
> Your reviews make my day and if you have recommendations I would love to hear them!


	6. TBD6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Ok HOUSEKEEPING:
> 
> Ch9 is about 750 words in… Hopefully I’ll get that out by monday… We’ll see.
> 
> A HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to SkylaRose for coming up with the chapter titles! 
> 
> Songs:  
> Unstoppable by The Score  
> 3AM by Halsey  
> Logic 1-800 by Logic, Alessia Cara, and Khalid  
> Lunchbox Friends by Melanie Martinez

He wouldn't say that he was disappointed. Or maybe he was. After the successes of his life, maybe he had expected too much. Stephen, a man who fought for everything he had, could say that he might have expected more than his son could handle. They were the same except eyes. He had his mother's eyes. 

Yet, he had failed and left Stephen to clean up his mess. Maybe Stephen had expected Jace to act and behave like him. Expected him to be the same. 

However, Jace was raised under privilege. He had money and power and a place to belong while Stephen had to fight and make his way. This is what Stephen pondered while his son slept off a list of sedatives longer than his shipyard inventory. His son was a man and here he was, still sleeping in Stephens house in Stephens mansion. 

He sat at his desk, a darkly stained mahogany, and looked at the only two pictures to litter the otherwise starkly decorated space. One, of his late wife, her soft curly hair falling down her back as she smiled at something out of the picture. He couldn't remember anything about that day or why she was smiling. He was getting old, memory was beginning to fail and these precious moments that he used to know were eroding away. All he had left was pictures. The memories had slipped away and he could only remember certain pieces of her in flashes. Her smile as she looked at him, something that was only for him. The soft smile she gave when she first woke up, sleep in her eyes, and the complete feeling of content she held. The new and different gleam in her eye when they sat by the pregnancy stick as it turned positive.

She was his world and, now, she had been gone for 35 years. It was August 18th and she had been dead 35 entire years. It was almost impossible to imagine, to comprehend. 

Nevertheless, he sat in the leather high-backed swivel chair and began planning for the latest Circle meeting. His son would need a push, something to incite a fire within. Jace had always had a drive to prove himself so maybe that's what he needed. He needed to see that everyone is expendable, even the leader of the Circle. 

Temporarily replace Jace with Will. That would be easy to do nonverbally, just have Will sit to his left. 

Done and done. What next? Right, address the happenings at the Pangborn residence where Jace fucked up. Talk about how the tac team cleaned up quickly before the cops came. They either killed, caught, or ran off the Grandiose members, picked up the casing from the bullet that killed Pangborn, very easily cleaned up the wet and pooling blood, and sprayed everything down with bleach before high tailing it out of there. 

The team had done exactly as they were requested to do to the specifications that they were expected of. They had not disappointed him. Not to say that Jace disappointed him. He, however, did not do his specified job to the specifications that Stephen expected of him. But he was not disappointed. 

What next on the agenda? Every Circle meeting had an agenda to keep everyone on topic and to make sure that nothing fell through the cracks. So, what next? Oh right. His son's new mission to find out everything about the girl and her connections to the Grandiose. He needed to know if they were becoming a local threat. 

Next would be a group discussion on why the Grandiose of all organizations would need a mole to access the hospital records. Stephen had his own theories but he wanted to hear from his people as they could be quite insightful. 

After that, request permission to bring three unknown friendlies into the fold. It was more of a formality than anything but, he wanted to make the heads happy. A happy head could mean a happy workforce. The only reason for this formality was that his heads hadn't met them before. Hell, even Stephen didn't know the two people coming with Jon. If approved, which it would be since there was a need for manpower, a town car would arrive to pick them up. Stephen, the CEO of Herondale Enterprises, wouldn't be able to pick them up, even though he wanted to. Especially after he contacted someone at the Naval Academy years ago and received word that a Jonathan Valentine Morgenstern-Fairchild had registered and entered their program. 

Lastly would be reports from various heads and time for questions. Stephen expected very little to come from that. They only came to him if they had a problem or if their numbers dropped significantly. As he had never had a problem with any of his heads or how they operated, nothing was ever significant enough for further investigation. 

Stephen checked the watch on his left hand, reading at almost noon. His son had asked for no Circle meetings until after noon. 1201 counted as after noon. Besides, the agreement was more to humor him than anything else. He was found, stripped and injured, and lacking power and influence. Jace needed something, anything, to reestablish his position. Little good it did him in the long run. 

The woman though, she seemed incredibly familiar. Doctor Clary Fray. Fray. Stephen hummed to himself in the privacy of his barren office. She looked remarkably familiar but he was, admittedly, more focused on his son and his well being than the woman who repaired him. He could forgive himself for that. 

But the girl. He would have to make a visit to the girl. Eventually. Herondale Enterprises needed more attention first, there was a new fiscal year to plan for. 

()()()()()()

In the end, she was brought to him a day later by his son along with the startling realization that she was the woman the Grandiose were searching for. Jace had certainly done a good job here, managing to figure out who it was within a day. It was blatant luck but, his son had so little fun that Stephen let him have it. 

Even with luck though, it was truly astounding how… convenient it could all be. One might call it happenstance, another fate. Either way, the girl, though it would be more appropriate to call her a woman, was now seated in the chair across the desk while Jace stewed outside the soundproof room. 

Stephen took a moment, blatantly analyzing her. He was obvious about it too, no need to be careful since she was basically hand delivered. She was certainly Jocelyn's daughter. Except for the underlying bone structure, Clary- as he learned her name was -an exact carbon copy of her mother. 

Dressed in pale blue fabric shorts and a loose blouse, the woman was the picture of a calm and collected individual. She looked like her mother but held the cool mannerisms of her father. Though it was a trait taught to Valentine by life and pain and pain of life. It was something that both men had to learn by experience from the service. 

If she was looking like that then, what did that say for her own experiences?

Regardless, she was here in the office and the meager file that was hurriedly composed was sitting closed in front of him. It really was quite astounding how her parents were making themselves known within her. 

Just as he saw pieces, very large pieces, of himself within Jace, Valentine and Jocelyn were raging within her. It was something every parent had to go through, the search and find of themselves within their progeny. The ingrained need to carry on their genetics was a basal need to most. However, being so happy and proud and joyous once you’ve found something of yourself, that was something he had the pleasure of experiencing before he searched for it. 

Stephen's question though would be what Valentine thought of the distinctly Valentine expressions that loitered on both Clary and Jons face. If he would be proud and joyous or reserved at what could only be forged through toil. 

God he was spending too much time thinking about his dead best friend. He cleared his throat and the woman, who had been looking at him since she sat down now, kept staring at him in wait. “So you’re the same woman who saved my son's life.” Stephen stated more than asked. 

She nodded her answer to that, her eyes never leaving his.

“You are also Valentine and Jocelyn's daughter.” Stephen stated again. 

Her eyes widened and surprise flashed quickly across her face before being replaced by a small smirk that was undoubtedly fake. It seemed to be an automatic reaction.

He decided to clarify. “You look like Jocelyn but act and move like Valentine. Your facial structure, the high cheekbones and prominent chin, are also Valentines. I only know this because I was in the Navy with your father. We were also one anothers best men at our respective weddings.”

He didn't want to play this close to the chest as he did all others. Stephen had afforded Jon the luxury of learning about his father and, just because she didn't look like a clone of him, it wasn't right to not allow her that as well. So he laid his cards for her as well as asking for her drink order.

The woman across the dark table from him shook her head, the flaming curls that had escaped her braid flew around her and caught the sunlight coming in from the window to her right. “I’ll take ice water if you have it.” she requested. 

He nodded and the request and poured her a glass from the bar cart stationed behind his desk. She sipped it silently while he poured himself a finger of scotch from the crystal decanter. 

“Interesting choice of liquor in the crystal.” She spoke up suddenly and Stephen's interest peaked. “I should think a wine to be more appropriate.”

A small chuckle escaped his lips. The slight awkwardness and tact, or lack thereof, of her mother, yet the silver tongue of her father. Something she likely didn't know she possessed from him. “Your father said the same thing to me when we celebrated Jonathan's birth together. And, I’ll tell you the same thing I did him at the time.” He told her. At this, her eyes lit up and a restrained smile appeared on her face. She even sat up impossibly straighter in her chair, anticipation evident in every move she made. “My late wife loved wine, even wanted her own vineyard. When she died… I couldn't bring myself to drink it anymore. However, the decanter was a present from her. I couldn't bring myself to let it go unused. Now, and I never had a chance to discover this before Valentine died, I find myself enjoying the slightly salty and smoky smell of the scotch more than the paper and leather of the books and brief cases in this room.”

Stephen knew that he was trying to draw her in with her late father's stories. It was manipulation and, given the circumstances, Valentine might forgive him for it. Part of him wanted her to prove him wrong. Prove that she knew better than to fall for his tactics. Tactics that Jon had fallen for. The other part wished to continue to share and honor the memory of Valentine with the people who were most deserving of knowing him and, yet, never got to. 

“What was he like?” Clary questioned Stephen. But, before he could answer she continued. “I’ll do a trade. Story for story. Question for question. Tit for tat.” It was definitely Valentine's silver tongue and ability to bargain. Maybe she did have the tact of him and not Jocelyn. Jon certainly had Jocelyns lack of tact however, he also had the ability to put people at ease by just a smile. They both had Vals outrageous ambition in spades. The gleam in her eye told him little, but he knew she had to know that he needed information from her. Tit for tat, as it were. One of Vals, and later Jocelyns, favorite sayings.

“Accepted. As the guest the first question is yours.” he replied before sipping on his drink.

“Are you the leader of the Circle?” she asked, eyes flicking across his face.

He nodded. “Yes. Where did you study?” Stephen wanted to know her qualifications. Posing the question like this required her to give all the places she previously studied. If he had asked a more specific question it would have taken more of them to receive the same amount of information.

She chuckled. “I went to a high school in Oregon. Undergraduate from NTC and Medical from Tulane Med. Then NY Presp for my residency and now I work there as an attending.” A small smile took hold of her face. “I know what you did in regards to the question. I guess mine will be alike in yours. What are you planning on doing about the Grandiose?”

“That depends on why they are after you. Had you been someone random, I would not care to the degree I do now. However you have more of Valentine in you than you might think. You are not a clone of your mother, as much as it may seem.” He rolled that around for a minute internally debating whether or not he answered her question. “I guess it also depends on what they threaten.”

Deciding that there was nothing else he could do for her on that front, he continued their trade. “Forgive me in advance but, why are you not asking about your father more?”

“He's a ghost.” She replied instantly. “I can't change the past but I can fight for my future. When the dust settles- and it will settle -I will be here to ask those questions and seek those answers. I just need to live until then. Its basic survival.”

Basic survival. God. That was a topic that was a constant between Stephen and Valentine while overseas. Basic Survival. Collateral Damage. She really did sound just like him. 

“When the dust settles,” she continued on, oblivious to Stephen's sudden trip into a memory, “if you're not here, is there anyone else who might be able to answer those questions?”

Taking another sip- God he would need a refill soon -Stephen mulled that over. “Your father- how do I say this… Your father was a charmer. He could disarm with a smile and find out a life story over drinks without revealing a thing about himself. You are like him on those counts. Except the smile. Your smile more closely resembles a wolf guarding its territory, baring its teeth for a fight and as a display of power. Outside of his charming self, he was prickly to those he didn't care for. Others might have stories but not to the extent I do.”

Stephen glanced at his watch, Jon and the tagalongs should be landing anytime now and the towncar would be waiting for them. He didn't know how much she knew about Jon and he wasn't willing to ask. All he had was stories, stories that didn't seem of immediate importance to her. Despite being in his office, him dressed in a suit and her in casual wear, she held the power here. His only bargaining piece was more interesting to her brother than her. Keeping her happy and sated with the questions would have to be the key to finding out information. “Why do you think the Grandiose are after you?”

“Revenge.” her smile took on a sad and resolved undertone. “I destroyed a lot of their information and freed their profit. They lost money, real estate, and manpower. I haven't done anything else regarding them except run.” she shrugged her shoulders and drank more water. “As for my question, when the dust settles, would you be willing to submit your stories and Valentines stories to a book called ‘Sea Stories and No-Shitters’?”

Sea Stories and No-Shitters? He barked out a laugh from the depths of his chest. It felt like clearing an attic of cobwebs it had been so long. Watching, no hearing a poised young woman ask him about distinctly Navy jargon was beyond hilarious. “Of course. Where did you hear that?”

“Is that truly the question you wish to ask?”

The last chuckles fell from his lips and, suddenly, he remembered just how good it felt to laugh. “It is now.” was his only reply.

Her eyes met his again. “It was one of the only things our mom would tell us about Valentine.” she sighed and her eyes unfocused for the first time since she walked into his barren and beige office. “Do the Grandiose scare you? More specifically, are you scared for your assets like family and various businesses?”

Stephen ran his finger around the rim of his almost empty glass, the tailored grey suit prohibiting any large movements. “At the end of the day, my family is most important. It's the people that are the most important. If I must leave, I will. Jace's life, the lives of my nieces and nephews, the lives of my friends and their kids, the lives of the people who work both for the Circle and Herondale Enterprises are more important than the business. I will do what I must to protect them. I have been in war zones before and, until that warzone becomes New York, I refuse to give them that power. As should you.”

Clary nodded in acceptance at that. There was something off though. During the entire conversation she was practically on the edge of her seat. She was wholly present in the conversation. Now though, it was like she had retreated into her mind. There was a fogginess but it wasn't the all consuming one of a memory. It was like she lost interest. Like how Val would get when he needed something explained to him, which wasn’t often, but was either unable or not wanting to ask for a clarification or explanation. 

Deciding to take a chance, he asked her what she knew about the power dynamics regarding various ‘groups’. 

“Do I have to answer?”

An internal smile lit up in pride. He was able to read her like he had learned to read Val. “It's not your turn to ask the questions.”

“Fine. Then no.”

He nodded and began the spiel that was given to most new men and women.

“There are various groups or organizations around the country and world that specialize in buying up property and running either drugs or weapons or, in other groups cases, people. New York is the main point of access into the United States through the northern Atlantic Ocean with Florida being a main route from Cuba and the Bahamas. No other city is easier to buy, control, and transport things through on the eastern seaboard than New York City. That being said, each group works to control one city or another. The Circle, having taken New York, has begun leaching into Boston and Chicago. The Grandiose has New Orleans by the throat, and therefore the Mississippi River. Whereas the Yakuza and other Triads are continually working their way into various cities in Oregon, Washington, and California. Their main goal being cities along the western seaboard. The country is divided by various mobs centered around access points. For the Grandiose to bother with something so far north of their point of interest would require an excellent reason.

“Personally, I don't think revenge is their main motivator. You are, in their minds, harmless and haven't been planning any other attacks on them. You are no more a threat than the average Joe on the street. There has to be something deeper.”

He looked at her. The more he sat in this chair the more of each parent he saw in her. He had long since stopped searching for him and his wife in Jace. It was just too hard to watch and try to find those things that would remind him of his wife. All it served to do was make him miserable. That didn't mean that he couldn't live vicariously for the rest of the meeting by finding Valentine and Jocelyn.

A few questions later and they parted ways. She to wherever she would choose to go while under Circle protection, and he remained in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2:
> 
> I wanted to put out a chapter from Stephens perspective because, as I understand, all villains are heroes in their own minds. Voldemort, though hypocritical as he was a half-blood, thought he was doing the right thing. Canon Valentine thought he was doing the right thing by attacking the downworlders. Even villains in real life think that they are doing the right thing. And, while my Stephen isn't necessarily a villain, having his experience serves to humanize him and to show his version and pieces of his past. 
> 
> My inspiration for Stephen being the mob leader comes from a fic (I don't remember the name but it was also a surprise that it was Stephen) where Val died and Stephen took over his ideology and mission. Stephen, after the conversion of Lucian to the werewolves, became Vals right hand man in canon. As the author of the previously mentioned fic pointed out: Many readers forget that Stephen was aligned with the Circle. This is why him being the ‘villain’ of their fic was such a surprise. 
> 
> Reviews and comments are fantastic and much appreciated!


	7. TBD7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Ok. Sorry I didn't put this out yesterday... I thought I did but nope... Oh well. Its here now.

Her meeting with Stephen left her both unsettled and with a sense of relief. How could this man know her father? Why did this man get to know her father when she didn't? These were questions that had easy and logical answers. Instinctively, Clary knew that she shouldn't be jealous of Stephen for knowing Valentine. It was something that she couldn't control and, therefore, shouldn't waste her time on. 

Still though, these thoughts and questions had haunted her since she was a child and old enough to know and understand death. Old enough to understand that, no matter how many times she wished upon a star, hoped on the flash of green on the horizon of the sunset, and asked for when she blew out candles on a cake, he would never come back or appear. 

It was unsettling how much Stephen knew about Valentine. It was unsettling that all of these thoughts and hopes and wishes were coming back. She was over 30 years old for crying out loud! These insecurities should have died long ago. 

The meeting, while unsettling, also provided her with a sense of relief. Clary had never been good at the unknown. She had always known what she wanted to do and, as such, never did well in times of uncertainty. There always had to be a concrete plan or path to follow.

All her life she had been walking down a path. First it was high school. Then she had college. After college was medical school. Then she was paired with a hospital where she would begin her residency and then complete her final boards. Her life, her career- which was her life -was her stability, her plan. Everything was planned out in advance. Even with the Grandiose, she just stopped dying her hair and continued her schooling. 

Hawaii wasn't a plan, it was an idea. Clary didn't want to bounce from hospital to hospital with the eventuality of danger breathing down her neck at every place. She felt like a nomad, moving with the animals. Though, in this case, she was the animal being hunted.

Knowing that Stephen would protect her, within reason, was a relief. She still felt like an animal but now it was more like a herd than on her lonesome. Protection was a relief. Having somewhere to go when she was in trouble was a relief. Her mother still lived in Oregon and her brother was wherever. The last time she actually felt safe and secure was when she had a community, a family. Clary didn't have that now but, maybe, eventually it could happen again. And, maybe, it would be here. 

Either way, she had a sense of stability and safety now. 

Clary was in the bathroom, gathering her thoughts and preparing to go back out into the world. No matter where you were in the United States, even the world, bathrooms all looked the same. They all had the same utilities despite how they were decorated. You could almost forget yourself in a bathroom. She used this space to ponder and compartmentalize her life. She needed to. 

Clary felt- not safe -but not in danger here in the mansion. It was a beautiful place to live, all high ceilings and open space. But the whole house was cold. It was an unforgiving beige color with little to no personal decorations. People could move in and out easily and quickly. There was nothing that people would want to take with them. There was no personalization. This was a house without the people to make it home.

She braced herself on the counter and evaluated. Her hair, something she had loved and loathed at different parts of her life looked dull and lifeless. It still fell in the characteristic curls and waves. It still had the same bright color. Maybe it was her face instead that fell flat. There were bags under her eyes and her skin was so pale that the veins in her arms were obvious rivers under her skin. Clary didn't even want to look in her own eyes, scared of what she might see or, rather, what she might not see. She was tired. Her soul felt tired. 

God, her life was a mess. But, it was still her life and it was moving on while she was in here. Clary washed her hands and finished up. Walking through the hall and into the dining table by the wall of windows she saw Jace in the kitchen. He greeted her with a nod when she came in and sat at the bar, facing the kitchen with her back to the table. 

With his back to her he asked if she took her coffee black.

“No. Do you have milk and cream?” she asked. She only took her coffee black if she was desperate or out of supplies. 

He placed a half full mug of steaming black coffee in front of her along with a gallon of milk and a small thing of cream. “I figure that you would need this after a one-on-one with my father.” he told her, a small smile creating a dimple on his tanned cheek. 

Clary used the milk and cream, her coffee turning a dark beige that was not dissimilar to the walls in the living room she had passed. “That bad huh?” she asked in reference to the obvious look of ‘run down’ that was present on her face. 

A low chuckle escaped as he moved to put the milk and cream away in the fridge. “He never gives you a one-on-one if you’ve done something good or pleasing to him.” he replied, leaning his back against the far counter next to the stovetop. His arms crossed and Clary was able to look at him in a less clinical setting, less intimate setting. Sunkissed skin, even New York, and a fitted t-shirt did him wonders, all lean muscle with an air of seriousness. He was wearing semi loose cargo pants and socks. A tea towel thrown over his shoulder. 

She raised her eyebrow at that, the underlying tone of… something. She couldn't tell whether it was discontent or bitterness that loitered in his voice. Either way it was something.

Jace scoffed and rolled his eyes at her, the golden orbs lingering on her eyes. “What? Was your father a bundle of love and support?” He sassed back at her. It was definitely bitterness.

Clary leveled at him. “My father died before I was born so, no, not really.” she replied carelessly. It used to matter to her, and sometimes it still did, but it was better to shove it down and care about it later. “I did, however, receive the same thing from my mother. You?”

He looked at his feet, a small grimace disrupted his face. “Mother died in childbirth. It's just…” he left off, a chuckle- more like a forced exhale -still staring at his feet, blond curls obscuring his eyes.

“Shit.” she supplemented, understanding.

Jace nodded. “Exactly. Everyone just says sorry for your loss but… it's not. Not really.”

“It's not a loss because,” Clary gulped a little and grasped her plain white mug tighter, a familiar tightness spawned in her chest- like a black hole or if someone reached their hand in and began squeezing, “there was nothing for you to get attached to. If you never had it then how can you lose it?”

“Yup.” he replied, meeting her eyes and drawing out the word. “A little philosophical for my tastes but it still doesn't stop that hollow feeling though.”

“Like how you see some other kid who has that parent you're missing and all of a sudden you wish you were them.” she took a sip of the scalding liquid, the pain reminding her of the present rather than the past. 

“Then you grow out of it and no longer wish that on others.” He picked at his fingers, the calluses mapping his skin in continents. “But you still feel it on big occasions.”

“Graduations and significant birthdays. When you receive a big achievement and all you want to do is share it with someone.”

He nodded again and turned back to the stove. The muscles contracted as he flipped the pan and stirred the pot. She heard something begin sizzling and the smell of chicken wafted into the air. She could practically see the rich flavors spread from the pan. 

She kept sipping her coffee. Clary didn't know what time it was and, quite frankly, she didn't care. Eventually she would have to go home, though how she would get there she didn't know. Then back to work. She didn't want to be a sitting duck but, hopefully, she would have a small army behind her. That would be better than just about anything else. Better than running and hiding, that was for sure. 

The door opened in the distance and the sound of boots rang out on the wooden floor. Clary looked to Jace who stood, stiff, at the stove. When the first sounds of speech flooded into the room, his head whipped up and the curls flew.

She saw him say ‘shit’ silently, eyes wide as he dropped the spatula on the counter, careless of its drip holder. He flew from the room, sliding into the wall next to the door, and Clary rose to follow him into the entryway. 

Her blood ran cold as she heard a laugh ring through and off of the high ceilings, clear as a bell and free as hope itself. It was something she hadn't heard in years. Her fears were confirmed milliseconds later as white blond hair caught the light as the body turned away from her. Clary shouldered past Jace, ignoring his strangled “Hey!” as he was pushed into a wall. 

She gripped the man's right shoulder with her left hand and pulled him around. It was exactly as she feared. The bone structure, the dark- almost black -eyes, the pale complexion with a few freckles, and the platinum hair, it was him. Actually him. After over a decade and a half, happenstance brought them together.

She was still gripping his shoulder, looking at a ghost as he asked her name in utter disbelief. He paled and the smile he had on his face morphed into horror when he saw her. 

Clary was still grabbing his shoulder when she buried her fist into his face, the knuckles of her right hand making contact with the thin bridge of his nose, and she felt the bone and cartilage break under her hand. She let go of him as he stumbled back, clutching his nose as he looked at her with the same mixture of shock and horror. Blood started to run through his fingers as he pinched his nostrils together. 

“Fuck you!” she screamed at him, the hand in her chest closing around her heart. “You left mom! You left me!” she screamed again, her voice breaking as she talked about herself. “Where were you?” the question came out strangled as her nails ripped into her palm. “When we needed you- when I needed you -where were you?” her vision started to ripple as the tears flooded her eyelids. He didn't deserve her sorrow. He didn't deserve her tears. Not when he was the cause of them.

His expression never changed from the shock and horror. “Y-y-you-you punched me!” Jon said in disbelief, voice raised several octaves. 

Clary, not finding anything else she wanted to say spun on her heel, braid whipping whipping around to follow her as she marched back to the kitchen bar where her coffee sat, passing a shell shocked Jace who was leaning against a wall. Her white mug stood out from the black granite countertops. Clary sat in her chair and took a gulp of her coffee. She would need the caffeine to confront what she soon faced. 

It was awkward to say the least. The three men had nowhere to go but into the kitchen and in there sat Clary. She could hear men talking in the other room. Their voices carried throughout the hall, melodious, as they talked in low tones, almost obscured. Jace's voice was easy to pick out, it was almost grating when talking to these men, not unlike when he talked to his father, overly formal. Her brother- brother was an interesting word to use when in relation to the platinum man -was not speaking at all. His voice, more so than any others, would have jumped out at her, a livewire. Between the other two men, there was an obvious hierarchy. It may have been by age or by experience but one man, in the end, bowed to the other. 

Clary sipped on her coffee. It was in the unsavory stage between hot and cold where only the truly dedicated and needed drink it. She could feel more than hear a resolution being reached and, as such, she had to watch his walk of shame down the hall, probably to the bathroom- the same one she had been in earlier -while two tall men sat at the table, one with sandy blond hair, the other brown, both with the same green eyes, obviously brothers. 

They sat next to one another, backs to the wall of floor to ceiling windows facing the bar and kitchen. They walked around the mansion as only someone who lived there could, with an air of familiarity and an easy knowledge of how to not scuff the floor with the chairs- something Clary had accidentally done. 

In the end she moved to face them, mug resting lazily in both hands. The tension was palpable in the silence as Jace moved to take his place at the counter. It wasn't the livewire from before though, crisp air- practically crackling with static. The undercurrent was like clouds, clouds she had seen every year when she was growing up. There was never any lightning, no threat of it either. Moisture hung in the air and you could smell the rain on the way. It was the threat of rain in the future- never knowing when it would hit, just that it would. 

She thought that she could have been more at ease had the tension been alive and threatening. Instead it was passive and growing, hanging over their heads as a french guillotine. Clary could see the invisible strings connecting her to Jace, her to Jon, and Jace to the brothers. 

The brothers were speaking softly, a language that sounded like a babbling brook, all deep middle throat. Clary didn't speak a word of it but the sound was amazing, smoothing edges and lifting lullaby. Their heads were bowed together and they were gesturing, taking turns making points. The brown haired one said something explosive and he received an equivalent response. The sandy blond said something that sounded like a curse. 

Something Clary had learned from treating people from all walks of life was that certain things sounded the same no matter what, curses and gossip were two of those things. They were both gossiping and cursing. It was the body language and the force of the sounds, where they looked and how the brook changed from a light murmur to a rumbling waterfall falling over jagged boulders. 

Having the time now, Clary stared past them and through the wall of windows to the green grass. The property, from what she could see, was framed by tall pine trees. They stood in the distance, a promise of wildlife beyond. They were beautiful and reminded her of where she grew up. Another memory for another place while her brother was elsewhere. Either way, she sat at the counter and watched yellow and orange and purple slowly seep into the slowly vibrant baby blue. A greying purple lit up the clouds while a pink underbrush painted and shaded their texture.

It was the brunette that spoke first, she thought, though truthfully, her coffee cup was more interesting at that point so it very well could have been the blond. His words fall like petals from his lips, wholly accepting. “So youre his sister.” It's followed with what's supposed to be a dazzling smile from the brunette, she was too tired and wound up to care though. 

Clary snorted through the last of the coffee she immediately downs. “Blood of the covenant, water of the womb and all that shit,” she told him, waving her hand carelessly. Whether she believed this or not- it didn't matter. She just needed to survive at this point; living could come later.

The blond leaned back, hands behind his head as he stared at the bland oatmeal colored ceiling. His biceps bunch in an attractive way. There’ll be more of that in Hawaii though. He wasn't unattractive, if anything it was like the terrible break up line: ‘It's not you, it's me’. Clary was tired and over it. It wasn't the nameless blond man, it was Clary. 

The brunette- did they have names or not? -looked steadily at her. “So are you not siblings? You look nothing alike.”

Somehow, someway, Clary managed not to roll her eyes at him with a response of ‘No shit sherlock’. Again, somehow, someway, she managed. “He takes after father. I, our mother. Not that it really matters anyway. He's practically estranged.”

The blond dipped his head forward and locked eyes with her. Clary didn't know whether to feel validated or not because she was, apparently, more interesting than an oatmeal ceiling. Though she couldn't imagine that it could be a point of contention. 

His eyes flicked to the door where her brother stood, silent- a fly on the wall. Jon entered the room at some point and she had no idea how long he had been listening. One of his tanned hands was holding a white bandage under his nose while the other was gripping the wall in a white knuckle grip. 

Her brother let go of the wall and motioned around the room. “Where's the blood of the covenant?” she was surprised that his nose wasn’t clogged considering the amount of snot in his tone. He had always been like this, nearly insufferable and wholly infuriating, it wasn't usually directed at her. 

A plastic utensil clattered on the counter behind her. She could almost feel Jace tense out of her sight. “It's hard to have a covenant when you're on the run. But you wouldn't know or care about that- huh? How's the nose?” if he wanted snot, she could give him snot. Clary had always been a sassy little shit. She assumed that had been a result of living with Jon, something that festered over time and was spilling out now. 

He replied with a snort from where he leaned against the wall. “Fine. As soon as it stops bleeding I’ll be good as new.” face adorned with a feral grin. Clary could feel the cartilage and bone as it broke under hand so he would not be ‘good as new’. 

“Where's the bracers then?” she asked, genuinely curious. Something up on his face was broken, at least his nose and other things could be up for debate. For the first time since she said her vows as a doctor, Clary made an exception for the ‘Do No Harm’. 

He shrugged and turned back to the two brothers at the table, speaking in the low throat sounds of the same foriegn language. Though he was focused elsewhere Clary rolled her eyes at him, he hadn’t changed in the 10 plus years. Except for the flat top. That was new. 

Clary slid off the stool and walked to Jace who was mixing what looked to be noodles, vegetables, and the chicken together. She slid close and tilted her head inward before asking him where his medical kit was. With a grunt his reply was “In the sink. Under the cabinet.”

She moved to twist away from the stove, and Jace, when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Her shoulder was tucked into his chest and they were facing opposite directions, his focus divided by her and the stove. A shiver crept up her spine as he began speaking into her ear, hot breath like a caress, lips barely moving. “Are you ok? Is he hurting you?”

She almost laughed at that, almost. Any hurt that he could have done to her happened earlier in her life. If she didn't care about him, he couldn't hurt her. It was her mantra, her lifeblood, the thing that kept her safe when her curls stuck to her skin and she couldn't tell whether it was tears or sweat that rolled down her face in the middle of the night when all she could feel was fear.

“No.” she told him quietly, lips near his ear. Golden curls tickling her nose. If she was tired earlier, she wasn't now. Just being around him was like a shot of adrenaline and caffeine in the most addicting combo. Just being around him made her feel alive, more so than she had in a very long time. “But if you hold my arm any longer and any tighter then you will be hurting me.” She continued in a slightly frosty tone. Clary didn't know why she still stood up for Jon, still cared. She guessed that… family was family. No matter how fucked in the ass it was. Some people enjoyed that type of thing. Who was she to judge? She was just a girl from a hole in the world that nobody cared about. If they could find what made them happy then better on them. 

She visibly shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. Clary had a mission- it was small and rather inconsequential -but it was a mission. Being near Jace now felt constricting. He was grabbing her too tight. His eyes, molten voids of an impossible gold, stared into hers with reckless abandon and it all just felt like too much. He was too caring for someone who didn't know her and there was too much sympathy. It felt like staring into her own and she wasnt ready for that. 

Clary pulled her arm away and shook her head at him, concern apparent in his eyes. She brushed past her brother and walked into the bathroom. It was almost comical. The same bathroom she had gathered herself in after Stephen was the same one as now, for Jon. 

This time she did look into her eyes and… she didn't know what she saw in her green irises. Did she see exhaustion of the body and mind? Yes. Exhaustion of the soul? Yes. Did she see fear? Yes. But, buried behind the terror and tired was a threat of excitement. As thin as a hair's breadth but as apparent as a smile. It was there and she didn't know what to do with it. Pull?- even if it unravels everything? Or let that be another chapter of her life she closed too fast with the everlasting ‘what if?’ hanging over her?

Something had to give. Something had to go. Someth- She ripped her eyes away from herself. It was too much. Just looking at herself was too much. Everything that had happened in the last several days, from makeshift surgery on her table to pouring her heart out to said patient to finding out that said patient's father knew her father, was way too much. That wasn't even bringing the estranged and now injured brother into the picture. 

She glanced out the small window placed in the shower. It was open to let air in and, through it, she could see that the sky had considerably darkened. Golden hour was long gone and, in its place, stood dusk. The clouds were thin and stretched across the sky, being pulled apart like taffy. Hopping into the shower, Clary had a better view of how the sun was falling. Red somehow turned to a yellow more gold than an actual ring. It was a yellow more yellow than words. It looked like sunlight felt, hitting your shoulders and sinking into your soul. 

Nestled between the soul yellow and the bright blue, there would be a bit of green. Her mother, back when things were a bit more ok than when her and Jon were teenagers, used to tell them about wishing on the flash of green. It was a color that had to appear every night but could only be seen well on some days. On those special days you were allowed one wish and one wish only. It could be whatever you wanted. 

For years upon years after, Clary, wrapped in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, cuddled in blankets, would wish upon the green. At first, it was for mundane things like doing well on tests or for some extra confidence. Then it was focused on getting her family back together- extra money for her mother and some happiness for her brother. Then, after her brother left, she stopped caring. A flash of green didn’t fix her family, it didn't bring her brother back, and it couldn't make more money. 

It wasn't a sign. Clary, for years upon years after this point, would always say that this wasn't a sign. It would be worn and used, almost like a new mantra. Because, even as she told herself that a flash of green wouldn't fix her problems, Clary still found herself wishing for a path on the pale green cushioned between the same soul yellow and bright blue she had when she was a kid. 

She bet she looked like a kid too, head out a window watching the sky fade. With an internal chuckle to herself, she checked for the telling red cross on a box and took it out from under the sink. 

With renewed vigor, Clary walked through the blank hall and back into the open kitchen and dining area. Jon had sat in one of the chairs across from the brothers, still talking in the soft vowel sounds while the sinks water accompanied their melody. Jace must have been doing dishes. The wooden chair squeaked on the floor as she moved it before sitting down across from the brown haired brother. 

Clary set the white metal box on the table and flipped it open, revealing the rows and layers of bandages and compressions. It was arranged in a sensible order and very well stocked. Whoever arranged the kit knew what they were doing and had a background in medicine. There were packaged antiseptic wipes and super absorbent cloths. These were hospital grade and much better than the towels she had and used on Jace. Whoever stocked this either had the means to get hospital grade equipment or didn't care if they were caught stealing from a hospital.

When Clary looked up Jon was looking at her expectantly, eyes dark and face slightly pinched. His nose, along the bridge, was swelling. Clary slid the blue latex gloves on with a snap before ripping open the antiseptic package and grabbing some of the absorbent cloths. Clary gently grabbed the hand holding the wad of- what appeared to be -toilet paper to Jons nose and began wiping the area gently, conscious of the pain and sensitivity of the area. 

His nose had stopped bleeding on its own so, all she had to do was clean and bandage the area. If he was being reasonable then it wouldn't take long. If he was going to be himself then there would be words spoken. 

Either way she kept dabbing at his nose and lightly wiping the crusted and dried blood, revealing small light freckles that were splattered across his nose and her entire body. He was being surprisingly compliant. 

The base of the box was filled with the bandages while the lid held various liquid and pill versions of common medications. There were two syringes and a resealable package of unopened needles. All she needed was an anti-inflammatory she could directly administer to the site. Then, after it had some time to work and go down, she could put bracers on it and see if she could get Jon to swallow some ibuprofen every couple hours.

She opened the needle pack and attached one to a syringe. Clary then looked for a numbing agent and an anti-inflammatory, finding the numbing agent in a glass bottle and ibuprofen in pill form. She poured out a couple of pills and gestured to Jon to take them saying, “It's ibuprofen.” 

He raised his eyebrow in a challenge, as though he didn't trust her. At that, Clary swallowed a scoff and silently gestured again while the brothers spoke in bowed heads and Jace was doing whatever he was doing in the kitchen. 

Jon's eyes rolled. “I told you already. I’m fine.”

“Just take the damn pills!” she forced out, exasperated. Turning her attention to the brothers, Clary leveled an evaluating gaze at them. “Is he always like this?” 

If the brothers were surprised at being addressed, they didn't show it. Instead, the blond one snorted and nodded. Their focus was back on Jon and her now as the blond watched attentively. 

It was Jon who caught her attention next, lightly tapping her bare wrist with his pointer finger. “Do you know what you are doing with that?” he near whispered, low quiet tones as though he didn't want to question her in front of others- even his friends -while pointing at the syringe.

She chuckled a little bit to dispel any tension on the subject before putting on the comforting mask she always wore with some of her more… cautious patients. “Yes. I actually did become a doctor and I do know how to administer a localized anesthetic and reasonably set a nose. If you want it to be pretty though then you will have to see a plastic surgeon about a rhinoplasty. I have contacts if you want them. For now, I can put it together and brace it which will hold and heal.” 

He nodded his consent and took the ibuprofen from her, dry swallowing it with a visible gulp. Following that she told him what she was doing as she was doing it. Clary told him about how there would be some stinging as she administered the anesthetic.

He winced a tad when she did the final injection, closer to the break. She asked him if he felt pressure or pain as she lightly prodded the anesthetized area. 

At his slightly confused response of “Pressure, not pain.” brow furrowed and everything, she told him how she was going to position the nose and possibly move bones back into place if it wasn't a clean cut. 

She placed her fingers on the lower bridge of his nose and gently prodded the area, again asking about pressure or pain and to tell her if he felt pain. Finding nothing loose, Clary gently massaged the area in hopes to spread the pooled blood around and massage down the swelling.

She poked around for the thin sticky strips that provided support to an injury, the things she called bracers. There was a small package of them tucked into a corner of the metal box. Taking it out, she took them out and began sticking the bracers on each side of the bridge of Jons nose. She was doing her best to pad and create support and increase the structural integrity of his nose.

It looked straight and was supported while it healed. “You’re done.” Clary told her brother while grabbing the used needle and bracer packaging and pulling her glove off over it. She tossed them into the garbage can near the counter and began packing up the medical kit. Clary put the syringe in a baggie for later before closing up the kit and placing it back under the sink in the bathroom. 

She walked back into the dining room and kitchen area as Jace was telling the brothers and her brother that he had finished dinner. The noodles and chicken and vegetables were mixed to make a yakisoba noodle dish. It had some kind of teriyaki sauce and smelled excellent. He had set out bowls and forks from an unknown place and the boys had already pushed and shoved to the front of the line. Jace was sitting at the table looking out the window into the darkness. 

She stood at the door and watched the three men- boys really, they didn't act 30 years old despite being at least that age -were pushing and shoving one another, yelling about servings and what had to be past food arguments. With a glance back at Jace, she saw 2 bowls in front of him and, when his tight but amused eyes met hers, he patted the table next to him and pushed a bowl over. 

Smiling despite herself, Clary sat next to him and watched the men volley over bowl and tableware. It was hilarious how, just minutes earlier, they were silent and speaking in their babbling language. Now though, they were like rambunctious teenagers again. Jon also didn't seem like he hated being around her now, a plus if she had even seen one.

She picked up her fork and ate in silence, watching as the men sat around the table and began speaking again. Stephen, who must have been notified by Jace, walked in from the hallway and grabbed a bowl and began dishing himself up. He sat next to Clary and began eating. 

Why was it, she wondered, that every meal she had eaten today was in silence. Breakfast had been- mercifully -alone and she had been silent as she sipped her breakfast smoothie. Lunch had been a very late and a rather tense affair with a literal ‘old friend’ and some other people she had barely known. Dinner was worse with the brothers, her brother, a man she didn't know, and Jace. 

Jace. Why Jace? He was many things to her; a patient, someone who she could relate to, an idiot, an heir, a possible friend even. How weird would that be? Making a male friend after years of actively avoiding them. It was… not an unwelcome thought. 

She, after being abducted by a man, began actively and passively avoiding men and boys. They just made her uncomfortable. Why Clary had even fathomed helping him out was still something she didn't understand. 

A silence caused Clary to look up from her near empty bowl, hungry from the lack of lunch due to her previous stress, to the faces paused and waiting. Clary quickly swiped her tongue along her teeth and other crevices in her mouth, sending the rest of her food southward before asking “What?” hurriedly.

“Your mother dear.” Stephen replied with little inflection, robotic nicenties. “I was asking Jon how your mother was.” Condescending tone evident in his voice and plastic smile.

“Oh.” Clary didn't know how to do this. She looked over at Jon who was looking at her, curiosity and a little bit of remorse- maybe? “I haven't talked with my mother in a long time. Last time I saw her was over 5 years ago.” Clary shrugged lightly, trying to dispel the small knot tangled in her intestines, and pushed the noodles around her bowl.

Movement caught her eye- a glint of metal fork now pointed at her -and she tensed subconsciously. “Wait. You haven't seen mom in 5 years?” Jon told her, judgement laced in his raising voice. “So you get to punch me but you haven't seen mom in over 5 years? What warranted that?”

Her fork rattled as it hit the bowl and Clary began yelling back. “She was at my graduation from medical school! Where were you!” Her eyes were blazing and the wooden table edge bit into her hand where she was clutching it.

A smirk lit up his face, infuriating Clary even further. “I was on a Naval Cruiser in the middle of the Pacific watching the stars after graduating from the U.S. Naval Academy before becoming a Navy Seal. Congrats on Med school though, sis.” Eyes narrowed, face screwed in a sneer. Just like the days before he left.

Heads were whipping so fast Clary could feel a breeze, their rapt attention on her and Jon. Her brother was smart and determined. Could he have been a Seal? It was in the realm of possibility. With her own face secure in the facade and Jons ringing victorious, Jace asked a seemingly innocent question as he stood angrily. “So you abandoned your mother. Why? What I wouldn't give for mine back!” 

“And what I wouldn't give for my father!” Jon screamed back, eyes aflame in anger. With a huff, his eyes changed and became more controlled- strategic even. Less like a cornered animal and more like someone searching for crack in a dam, and hoping to find it. “Where'd she go? Run off to find another family?”

A hand slammed down and the bowls jumped, the only sound in a quiet kitchen. “Dead.” Was Jace's only word before storming out of the room, a cold fury written across his lips. 

A sound akin to a strained laugh forced it way up Jons throat and he looked to the ceiling, his Adams apple contracting the entire way. “Well my dads dead. You don't see me pitching a bitch fit and running off.” Jon taunted after him. It was like they were children again, hurting and needing to hurt to cover the pain they felt inside. It wasn't a good system but children, and how they dealt with emotion, never were.

A slam echoed from down a hall when someone spoke up behind them. “Well… this was unexpected.” 

Clary whipped around to see the black haired man from her apartment a few days ago. Bill-or maybe Will was his name. He was standing with his arm loosely resting on the shoulders of a wavy haired brunette. She was standing straight, almost rigidly so, with a small frown. 

The black haired man looked past- and Clary followed -at the now standing men behind her, started but reserved expressions loitering on their faces. Only Jon seemed to not know what was going on. 

A grin broke out on Wills face, cracking his cheeks and putting a glitter in his eyes. “Gabriel! Gideon!” the dark haired man said as he ran around the table, arms stretched impossibly wide. 

He took the brothers- Gabriel and Gideon, apparently -into his arms and rubbed their heads like an older brother or father despite being the same age. He mumbled unintelligible words with the exception of ‘love’ and ‘miss’, into the air around them- into the bubble of home that surrounded them. 

Clary looked to the woman beside him again. She was staring, amused, at the scene before her, shaking her head at the black haired man's antics. With the ease that the woman was standing, loosely crossed arms while leaning on one hip, it was obvious this was a regular occurrence and a regular pose. With the small smile that rested on her face, it was something that endeared her to him. She looked as though she enjoyed the man's antics.

Glancing back at the heartwarming scene, Clary saw Will throw his arms over the two brothers tightly- tighter than he had with the brown haired woman -and pull them in closer. “As happy as I am to see you both,” he smiled at them before turning his attention to Stephen, “I have something for you.” Will inclined his head to Stephen.

“I had Simon look into where the Grandiose could be staying and, after combing through it for hours, he pointed out a potential warehouse. Based on their activities over the last few days, maybe even further, they send troops out during the night to scout for something. According to Simon, it could take days to use cameras to figure out where they go.

“I came to ask your opinion and to notify those who will be involved. It's already been checked and everyone except Magnus is free; we won't have a medic ‘in theatre’.” Will shrugged lightly and dropped his arms from around the brothers, still looking at Stephen with a grin on his face.

“What would you do about it?” Stephen asked carelessly. He was still looking at Will when the black haired man raised a questioning eyebrow, but his gaze held finality, as if he had come to a very important conclusion.

“Leave in two hours,” came a voice from a distance, “it allows us time to gather and arm all who will be coming with us.” it was Jace, leaning against the doorway. “Have someone call everyone and gas up the vans. Have the medic go over the bags and see what needs to be restocked before we leave. Take it from the supply here. Have Simon screen over the blueprints and create a quick plan.

“The point is to do this fast and hard, to leave them blindsided. We have the element of surprise and we need to use it. We can't risk another Pangborn situation.”

Clary was outright staring at Jace. Wherever he went after stepping out did him some good. He was more level headed, a calm energy. 

Stephen was nodding, running his finger around the ceramic of his bowl. “What about the medic?”

Jace's smile was almost feral as he walked up to Clary, slinging his arm around her and pulling her to him. “We’ve got one right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Clary will be blown up and more Clace and feelings. Yay! There also may or may not be a Lightwood reunion… We’ll see in (hopefully) no more than a week. 
> 
> So I envision The Circle being global. I see them and Herondale Enterprises being a global underground superpower. Heres the thing, I would liek to know where yall would want the character(s) to go. There WILL be some travelling and global destinations. So... yah. Gimmie suggestions please!
> 
> Also review please!


	8. TBD8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:   
> So I lied... Heres the last and final chapter I have written. FF and AO3 are officially in sync! I will update as my chapters get written on the sites. I have no update schedule because I am a little shit of a person and writer.
> 
> I also was in like… 2 hurricanes? Kind of. I got 2 days off of school though. Oh and my chem prof has a low 60s average score on ALL of his exams so… Ugh. 
> 
> Also, did you know that- authors notes and all -this is like 100 pages long? Im still astounded of what Ive done. It just isnt registering with me yet. Lol.
> 
> Without further ado… Onto the last written chapter!
> 
> *YALL THIS AINT THE END OF THE STORY... EXPECT LIKE... 20 MORE CHS. MAYBE. I DONT REALLY KNOW*

It was only after the one armed hug, a crisp metallic smell entangled in heavy spices that infiltrated her very being, that Clary realized she now had a reason and a need to call into work. 

Politely excusing herself, leaving the boys and the brown haired woman still talking through the plan, Clary grabbed her cellphone and headed to either the bathroom or another abandoned room within the mansion. She would be missing her shift in the early morning and, as such, would need to notify her boss and friends.

A private room where she could deal with Mias questioning about why she would take a day off- the first one since she came down with the flu several years back and was forced to -would be absolutely necessary, especially since Mia would ask if it was related to the ‘kinky fuckery’ Clary got into on the eve before her birthday.

Making her way back down the hall, for the second or third time that day, Clary ducked into the bathroom and leaned back against the counter. She reached for her phone in her back pocket, pulling out the bland android with an even more vanilla case. It served the purpose she needed it to- extravagance was unnecessary and alien to her. 

She called the hospital first, giving her name, occupation, and hospital badge I.D. number to the automatic response. It was the same as any other workplace- a lifeless voice because the nurses were busy. They would check the phone in a couple minutes. 

Her next call was to Mia. It probably would have been better for Clary to call her first, calling the hospital could have been a great excuse to get Mia off the line- any maybe Clarys back. Nevertheless, her number was the second to last one on her call logs, only behind the hospital. 

After Mia picked up on the third ring, and Clary explained that she needed to use a vacation day, the questioning started. It was prefaced, of course, with a little squeal- they were over thirty for christs sake and Clary was no blushing virgin -before following with actual and relevant questions.

The line crackled and Mia barked an order at someone on her end of the call, muffled voice lightly obscured. Clary could imagine the other curly haired woman dressed in dark scrubs, marching down the crowded halls and bringing forth both chaos and direction with the billowing of her lab coat. 

A chuckle escaped from Clary at the image. Mia was dramatic in an endearing way. It had been that flair for dramatics that had originally annoyed and split them apart. Now it was a welcomed distraction and comfort.

“Sorry,” Mia laughed, “I’m back. I swear the interns and residents get stupider every year.” Another laugh sounded across the line- from a man near Mia this time.

Clary chucked, a low and breathy sound- more akin to forced air than a true response. “It's fine. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what's probably going to be a major inconvenience. Anyways, is Mags working at least?”

Clary could imagine Mia nodding across the line. “He just clocked in with another one of his ominous prophecies.” The eye roll may not have been visible but it was there. “He said that today- or tonight, rather -was going to be miserable.”

Clary stared at the bland wallpaper in front of her. The pieces were there but she couldn't put them together. It was like an itch inside her skull, pieces flitting about but never coming together in the way they needed to. 

“He hates the term prophetic.” Clary replied after some time. With the almost audible whizzing of pieces and thoughts around her brain, it was all she could come up with at the time. “He’s never been wrong though. That's why I’m really sorry about this.” 

She was. One of the rare times she wasn't going to be at work and Mags had decided to prophesize that the second coming was headed their way. Mia, Mags, and Clary worked as a team- as the three best surgeons in their field. They were vital to the lifeblood of the hospital; Mia being pediatrics, Mags being general, and Clary being trauma. They were the perfect trifecta and now Clary had the gall to disrupt that all because of what? Helping her brother? Helping Jace of all people? She had done enough for him. In a world of debts, Jace was sinking deeper into hers. She owed him nothing.

However, she did need protection. Her talk with Stephen- while enlightening -left her confused and with questions that held no easy answers. They hadn’t blatantly talked about her protection so, to her, it was still up in the air. She needed something definitive and something promised. There would be no way to make any sort of contract or form or anything binding, the best that could be done, she figured, would be a promise and help on either side. It sounded like they needed a medic and she knew she needed protection. If the Grandiose were really in the city then it would only be a matter of time until they found her. 

She was making a deal with one of her fathers friends, and selling her abilities in the process. All she needed was Stephen's stamp of approval and someone to listen to their agreement. 

She decided to do that when she got out of the bathroom and after she was done talking with Mia, the woman she was currently on the phone with. The woman who had been calling her name in an upbeat voice for an indeterminable amount of time. 

“Yes, yes, Mia.” Clary replied, mentally stumbling back to the present. “I’m here.”

A sigh resonated through the line. “Back in dreamland again right? How was he?”

Clary choked on air, fumbling around for the meaning behind Mias words before remembering: ‘kinky fuckery’ and the man she ‘spent the night with’.

“Is that why you're taking your next shift off?” Mia asked, not sounding the least bit mad or upset. She was almost playful. “He’s got to be good if he's worth missing work for.”

Clary chuckled and crossed her arm tightly over her torso, deciding to play into Mia's jokes. “He can cook too. I just had this Asian dish that would rival takeout Thursday.” She said, looking at her toes wiggle and curl into the pale blue shag floor mat. A smile lit up her face as her toes disappeared into the soft threads.

Mia gasped. “Keep him!” She drawled out. Clary could hear the smile in her friend's voice. “Ok, I have to go- there's a few patients that I need to round on, some of them yours -then I’m helping Mags prep manually for his prophetic wave of patients. If it gets especially bad then you might still be called in, emergency override and all that bullshit.”

Clary found herself nodding along to Mia, hums of understanding escaping from her lips. “I’m not leaving New York so if it's detrimental then give me a call. I'll always answer for you. Give my love to Mags!”

They said their mutual goodbyes before Clary hung up and placed her phone back into her back pocket. If- and that was a big if -Mia did end up calling her, Clary would go and help. Like Stephen said, family came first and Mia was family. Mia was arguably more filial than Jon was, especially now.

Clary didn't even know why she was helping them out, why she didn't put up a fight when Jace touched her and volunteered her. Her protection hadn't been ironed out and they still needed to talk but Clary had nodded along when Jace had all but sentenced her. She didn't know why she allowed it. She didn't understand. That was her life now. Clary didn't always know and she didn't always understand and she hated it. This was not the plan. This was not her plan. It was a plan of circumstance instead of a carefully thought out series of events.

A light knock, hesitant at first before becoming more forceful, echoed throughout the room from the wooden door. “Clary? I came to grab you. We’re heading out soon and there's tons of stuff that we need to get ready.” Jace's voice called softly from the other side of the door.

Feet moving quietly on the plush bath rug, Clary unlocked and opened the door to Jace resting against the frame. Head cocked and light blond hair resting above his tawny eyes, Clary saw Jace appraise her up and down- as he had been doing recently -in a clinical eye. His concern, while slightly endearing, was unnecessary. Clary had been looking out for herself for a while now. 

Jace sighed before meeting Clary's eyes. “Your brothers an asshole.”

Surprise must have filtered across her face because Jace raised an eyebrow in retaliation, daring her to reject his statement.

A chuckle escaped from the curly redhead, hair more out of her braid than in. “A grade A one at that.” 

Jace smiled and glanced back down at his feet, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “He seemed surprised to see you and that you would agree to go into the field.”

Clary mulled that over. Jon didn't really have a right to what she did. Maybe she valued his opinion but… now-? She didn't know how much she cared for the big brother act anymore. His concern was nice but, again, unnecessary. Clary had been alone for a while now. Jon was years too late. 

Instead of saying that, Clary chose her words carefully. “We're estranged. I haven't seen him in almost 15 years. Besides, I might not have fancy Seal training but I've got private lessons and a decade of practice.” she replied with an air of nonchalance. “Feel free to test that out.”

The man near her nodded, curls catching and gleaming in the blinding fluorescent light. “I’ll get someone to do that while we arm up at the secondary location.”

Sensing that the conversation was over- after all, there was a sense of close in his statement -Clary moved from the small bathroom and squeezed past Jace. A firm grip on her forearm, not unlike the one in the kitchen, stopped her again.

With turned heads they were inches apart, noses almost brushing. “He didn't know about your involvement with the Grandiose and he didn't know that you were being hunted. It came up while you were in here,” he said, gesturing to the room, “and I told him the basics.” 

Jace seemed almost apologetic, if he wasn't so intense and close. “And why exactly would that be relevant?” Clary didn't know why she cared about her brother knowing what happened to her. After practically spilling her past and the demons of it to Jace, Jon shouldn't be any different- it should be easier to tell her family… right? She should be able to confide and seek comfort in her family. She couldn't though. For whatever reason, Clary didn't want her brother to know. 

Clary didn't notice when his gaze hardened, face set and eyes closed off. “We don't know who we will be running into while in there. If anyone has a very personal vendetta then the team- or atleast the people who will worry about you the most -would benefit from knowing.” Jace pushed off the door frame, muscles contracting obviously under his shirt, and walked off towards where the others were gathered in the dining room. “Oh and make sure the First Aid kit’s stocked.” He called, not bothering to turn around.

Clary rolled her eyes at his dismissal. The kit was stocked, she remembered, as she grabbed it from under the sink. Not well stocked- but stocked.

Flicking the light off and shutting the door, Clary watched Jace. Shaking her head- she would really need to redo her braid -Clary followed, arms tightening around her torso. As she walked Clary pulled the tie from her hair and began shaking it out, still following Jace at a leisurely pace. She could feel nerves getting the best of her, butterflies and caterpillar worming and crashing around in her torso. 

The red head entered the room the same way she left, quietly and without ceremony while others worked away at the plan of attack. The only changes were the new arrivals; a man who looked so alike Will they could be twins, a dark skinned man dressed in workout shorts and a tight tee shirt- similar to Wills look alike, and Simon and Isabelle- who were obviously dressed for a date, her heels and tight dress accompanied with his tie and jacket being the obvious indicators.

Jace came to a stop in the center of the room and cleared his throat, waiting until everyone's eyes were on him. Gesturing to Clary, he began. “This is Clary. She’ll be our acting medic.” 

In return Clary received nods and little waves from the people circled around the table. Turning his eyes to her, Jace gestured to the other people at the table. ‘You know Will,” Jace pointed to the black haired man who still had his arm around the woman, “and his wife Tessa.” the brown haired woman waved at her. “My cousins on the other side, Isabelle and Alec,” Another black haired man, shorter and quieter, and the woman that Clary saw with Simon in her apartment, “and their cousins Gabriel and Gideon.” the brothers waved at the same time, no help for telling them apart there. “And that's Jordan.” her attention was turned to a dark skinned man by Alec. The rest of the people, Simon, Jon, and even Stephen, Clary knew by face and name.

After the quick introductions everyone went back to a map spread out over the table. Will was surveying from afar while Alec had a pencil and was gesturing to Jordan, at times looking up to Will and waiting for a reply. Stephen was still running his finger around a glass- water, this time -and watching the proceedings with a tired eye. 

Jon was the only one who didn't turn back to the map, instead choosing to stare at Clary. The chatter increased and ideas flew around the room in a torrent as Jon walked closer to her, his hands clenching and unclenching. He stopped next to her and lightly tapped her ankle with his toe, just like when they were kids.

Concern lived in his dark brown eyes, light tension in his posture. “Is what they’re saying true? Are you… did you…?” Jon fumbled for words.

With a breath of air, Clary replied. “I did what they accuse me of and I don't regret it.” Her tone was forceful, almost biting.

Jon nodded once at her, a mutual understanding passing through them. “Survival.” he replied before moving back to the map and joining the discussion. 

The red head wasn't listening as she poked around the cabinets next to the tea kettle after turning the stove burner on. No one had told her to ‘make herself at home’ yet, here she was. It was just coffee- not a full course buffet -but she was playing doctor for them so coffee was the least they could do. 

The water in the kettle warmed and Clary rinsed out her previously used mug, overhearing the layers of voices at the table. They were throwing around words like ‘surprise’ and ‘count’ and ‘stairwell’. It didn't matter to her though. At the end of the day, Clary would be hanging around the back waiting to help. 

Clary grabbed the milk and cream, still looking for the instant coffee. Almost invasively rummaging- because where the hell could it be? -Clary eventually just called out to the table. One of them had to know. “Instant coffee?” she asked, fluctuating her voice and ending on a high note. 

In the end it didn’t matter who gave the answer; a crisp “Pantry!” sounding out from someone hovering over the map. It didn't help, however, as she hadn't been in the house long enough to know where the pantry would be.

Regardless, a few opened doors- and a light rifling around the pantry- later, Clary was back to a whistling tea pot and quickly making her second cup of coffee in less than two hours.

She entered back into the conversation, cup in hand, looking at the lines drawn on the map as Alec pointed as Jace saying, “... and someone will slash their tires.”

The redhead slowly sipped from the mug as the boys talked about how they were going to dismantle all of the vehicles around the Grandioses warehouse, preventing them from escaping quickly. They talked about the various points of entry while Jordan and the blonder brother stood over Simon as he tapped away on a silver laptop in front of him, pointing periodically. 

As Will stepped out to make a call- a softly spoken order from Jace -while the brunette woman- Tessa, Clary thought her name was -stepped up to her. With a soft smile, the woman introduced herself again and stook out her hand.

Switching her mug and with a soft smile of her own, Clary shook Tessa Herondale-Grays hand. “Dr. Clary Fray. Nice to meet you.” The pleasantries were said in the same slightly hesitant but upbeat tone that Tessa had used before. “I actually met your husband a couple days ago. He broke down my door.”

Tessa snickered, exasperatedly rolling her eyes in the direction of her husband. “He has a tendency to overreact sometimes.” The loving look Tessa was giving her dark haired husband was both sickening and enviable. It awoke something in Clary, a warm- but not fuzzy -feeling around her chest and abdomen that curled into goosebumps on her arms and legs.

Seemingly unbeknownst to Clarys inner struggle to name exactly what she was feeling, Tessa continued. “We actually had to leave Peru early. Lucky we did though, Will would have never forgiven himself if he wasn't on the recovery team for Jace.”

Clary rolled that around as she realized how close the two boys were. Clary didn't know how their whole family was related, but it was a close bond. “Were you in Peru for business or pleasure?” 

A soft smile graced Tessa's face. “A little bit of both.” the taller womens grey eyes bore into Clarys green ones. “In this family… business is everything. If Will and I go anywhere, business follows. It's hard to explain how integral the business is to this family.”

Her expression stitched itself tighter and the brunette turned back to watch her husband. Clary nodded along absentmindedly and reached up to flatten her red curls.

Tessa was right, of course. In the short time that Clary had been around the people and in the house, she knew that it was infused in the air they breathed and structured in their very bones. In the short time that she had been around Jace, all they had talked about was the Grandiose or the Circle. There was an exchange of information and it had all revolved around the business. Clary had so many questions whittling around in her head. She wanted to know and understand Jace. The tall blond was an enigma in how he interacted with his family and with the other people in his life.

He and Will, though they seemed close knit, had an air of frostiness when Jace upstaged him earlier. The way he spoke about his mother and father urged her to both wrap him in a blanket in front of a fire and let him rant and talk about whatever he wanted and needed. Sometimes, people just needed a big hug and an open ear. 

Clary paused at that, arms tensing as she missed a breath. Maybe Jace needed that, yes. Or maybe Clary was projecting her own needs onto him. 

She shook her head, red flying around her as she pushed the thoughts from her head. This wasn't the time and she didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with this in a meaningful way right now. With the return of her brother, dredging up her past with the Grandiose, and the nonstop schedule that was Clary's norm, she couldn't handle it right now. Dealing with her own emotional turmoil would need to get in line behind the daddy issues, being hunted like an animal, and possibly walking into a war zone. 

Everything needed to be pushed down and out before her breath sped up and her chest constricted and her thoughts started flying around and bumping into one another.

A light, almost hesitant, touch to the tip of her elbow brought her back to reality, colors refocusing in and the grey static receding from the edges of her vision. It was something reminiscent of their childhood, something that helped her. A grounding touch was something only Jon knew to do, developed during high school when Clary would get overwhelmed or needed to get out of her head. 

After he had left, she greatly missed the small reassurances that she wasn't alone. All of the things that he had shared with her- the little inside jokes that they had developed throughout the years together -left when he did, leaving her more alone than ever. 

She couldn't stay mad though, not with him. Not with the big brother who started pillow fights and built giant forts with, who allowed her to crawl into bed with him and sleep back to back when they were young children and she had suffered a nightmare. He had always had a way of diffusing the fire she was known for, calming her temper and soothing the flames. With their mother absent and working many jobs just to stay afloat, the siblings had come to rely on one another for everything. At times- at least back then -Clary had believed Jon to know her better than she knew herself.

It was remarkable that- even know, after all this time -it still had a way of bringing her back. 

A hesitant smile graced her face, pulling lightly at Clary's lips and cheeks, and relief flooded through her. Having her brother back with her meant more to Clary than she would admit. 

Wanting to distract herself to something slightly more upbeat than lost childhoods and absent family, Clary pointed out an obvious difference in her brother. “Your hair was longer last time I saw you.” She whispered lightly, trying not to take away from the ongoing conversation.

His pale hand mussed her hair like it used to all those years ago. He rolled his eyes, chuckling and turning back to Jace who was watching them with a lightly guarded expression. 

Regardless of the fifteen plus years that had passed, Jon had always kept his hair ear length or longer in teenage rebellion. Now though, it was cut tightly to his head. There was a stark difference between the Jon of their teenage years and the Jon of now. He held himself differently and, other than the outward differences, his presence felt more like a campfire with roasting marshmallows than the rolling wildfire that had threatened their home years ago. 

Jon was controlled yes, but he felt contained. He moved and walked with purpose, a purpose that hadn't been there years ago. Sometime, between high school and now, Jon had grown up and created a life. In that moment, Clary also realized that- somewhere between the time where a brother left to being a surgeon -she had grown up as well. 

()()()()()()

They drove cars to a warehouse in the outskirts of the city, plan in place and personnel ready. Clary sat in the back of Jons friend's car, the lighter haired brother of the two driving. It was short, a rather inconsequential drive, only made interesting when they would hit bumps in the road. 

The other cars in their party, numerous though Jaces truck managed to load up the bed, arrived as they did to two large padlocked roll-away doors. Jace kept the truck running as he hopped out of the drivers side door, paling in the fluorescents of his headlights. He did something to the door, body blocking his hands, before it rolled open to reveal bright low level lights and a line of padlocked cabinets and double doors. 

The blond driver followed Jace inside and parked next to him, cars flipping off as they lined up. The dark skinned man- Jordan? Clary thought his name was -jumped out and began opening the cabinets revealing an array of guns, knives, and other things Clary couldn't name but they glinted metallically. She exited the car, tying a hair tie around the end of the new braid and flipping it over her shoulder. 

The man that looked like Will- Alec? -started rolling the double doors open revealing lines of parked vans, rails and footrests lining the top and bottom of the vans. Clary gaped openly at the setup. Her expectations had remained vague and undefined yet, this exceeded every single subconsciously imposed one. 

Cars and other vans began showing up, men and women stepping out in boots, t-shirts, and cargo pants. They parked inside the building as well, line after line after line. A previously deserted place became a hubbub of activity. 

She was eventually shaken out of her stupor by Jace, a playful smile on his face. “Not what you expected?” a playful tone to match the smile.

She felt foolish as she shrugged her shoulders, hair tie hitting her mid back. “I wasn't sure what to expect- if anything,” another light shrug as she crossed her arms over her chest, “but this was unexpected, though not unwelcomed.”

Jace gave her a light nod before taking her over to a rack of clothing in various sizes. They were all the same cargo pants and t-shirt that all of the others were wearing. 

She picked out the clothes, coverage and function over any kind of beauty, in the smallest size possible. Just looking at the legs she knew that safety pins and rolling up the ankles would be in her immediate future. Jace motioned to some empty side rooms and motioned to her to get changed.

There were things that she hated about being short, the never fitting pants and having to look up to people- colleagues and subordinates alike -as well as sometimes needing to lower the operating room table so she could do her surgeries. To say Clary was frustrated with her height would be a tad understatement. 

There were other things she loved about herself and her body though and, as she looked at the bathroom mirror, dressed in the black pants and shirt of the Circle, she knew that she loved her freckles, her vibrant green eyes, and the way her hair would come loose from it braid to frame her face. 

Her world was upside down, had been now for over 24 hours. At least she was the same; it was a comforting thought in her mind. 

Quickly putting her own clothes on the hangers, Clary stepped out to meet Jace again. In his arms he had a vest for her, bulletproof she assumed. Clary slipped it on while Jace reached around behind himself. He took the hangers from her and traded it for a steaming cup of coffee, dark tan like she liked it. 

She smiled at him over the coffee, taking an appreciative sip. He returned her smile with his own as Clary voiced her thanks. Coffee, she very quickly learned in medical school, was a doctor's lifeblood.

Jace jerked his head and she followed, moving amongst the crowd of people. She could tell Jace was taking shorter steps for her benefit, allowing her to keep up. Clary appreciated the silent gesture, the multiple silent gestures. Now that she thought about it, what was with the little touches and the small reassurances?A He was always making sure she was alright and, even though she had only known him a short time, it felt like he could read her. She didn't know if he was trying to repay a debt but, in her mind, it wasn't necessary. Clary sincerely hoped that he wasn't like this just because of what she had done. If that was why he was doing what he was doing then it made her… uncomfortable, to say the least. 

They walked to the car and deposited her clothes into it. Walking back into the warehouse, she passed Isabelle with a clipboard writing furiously and Simon turning on a wall of computers, surrounded by others. They arrived at a wall of full body harnesses and, raising her eyebrow, she turned to him. 

A low chuckle sounded from his chest and the smile was turned on her. “You fill them with holders and various weapons.” he replied easily, no falter in his words. 

Jace motioned for her to spread her legs and hold out her arms level with her shoulders. “These harnesses are all the same size.” he told her as he took one off of the rack. “They need to be put on by someone who knows where everything goes so, for you, that’ll be me. Unless you wish for someone else to do it.”

She shook her head no, the braid coming around to whip her in the face. Clary recoiled and scrunched her nose. 

Jace's laughter couldnt be contained and it bubbled out, popping sporadically like giggles. “Eager are we?”

An eye roll was his immediate response. “You're the only person I trust who knows what to do.”

“Not even Simon?” he raised an eyebrow.

Clary chewed on that, rolling it up and around the roof of her mouth then back to her tongue. “I haven't seen him in years and I think he holds a grudge.”

“But you trust me.” he said with a tone of slight disbelief. There was no inflection, no signal that the sentence was a question rather than a statement. 

A small smile crept onto Clarys face, not quite pulling at her eyes. “Call it a hunch.”

With a slight shake of his head, Jace moved towards her and knelt in front of her. 

He grabbed her tennis shoe and lifted it up, slipping a piece of the black harness around her foot. He repeated the movement with the second foot as she sipped more of the coffee. 

Jace rose in front of her, pieces of the loose black straps bundled in his hands. He took one of her arms and slipped the straps around her. He kept moving around as she looked at the straps. There were increments on them, uniform pieces of metal every couple inches. The straps melded to the other pieces of cloth on her body, blending perfectly. 

She noticed him again as he was tightening straps around her ankles, the excess having to be folded over itself. They were tight but not uncomfortably so. He was around calves and knees. Next to be tightened were her thighs and hips where he used feather light touches. There were vertical straps running from the strap around her waist to the straps at her knees, ankles, thighs, and hips, every strap was connected to another all with the metal pieces on them. 

He began tightening more around her chest and back, both horizontal and vertical straps along her body.

There were others that ran down the lengths of her arms to the elbow, black lines appeared on her skin where her t-shirt and vest ended. Everything was tightened and snug. 

Clary had never worn a full body harness before, she never had a reason to, but this wasn't horrid. 

The coffee was cooler now, a tepid cup, as Jace led her around and to a wall of knives above a set of cabinets. Their handles gleamed and the metal blades shined. Some of the holders had empty spots where others had already geared up. 

Clarys attention was caught by two undecorated twin light silver handles without blades. They were heavy and off balanced, one side being considerably heavier. There also looked to be a pommel on both ends. She almost thrust her coffee into Jaces hands to grab the handles. These were interesting, new and different. Clary was curious, eyes widened. 

She knew Jace's eyes were on her as she reached to grab the handles. No words came from him though. 

The handles were cold, untouched, and the pommel was smooth and round. The other side of the handle was, at first glance, the exact same as the first side. The only difference, however, was a barely noticeable crease in the rounded end. 

The two handles were the same, one pommel with a crease and one without.

Her eyes found Jace questioningly and she knew that curiosity and confusion were scrawled across her face. She upturned one of her hands, fingers uncurled and handle resting in hand. 

He took the handle with his left hand. Fingers barely scraping her palm. 

“I don't recommend these.” he told her, voice serious and flat. He moved to put it back on the holder. 

Her hand shot out, almost of its own accord, grabbing his bare forearm. “How do these work?” she asked. Clary was curious, wanting to know everything and anything.

His mouth thinned and he repeated his earlier statement. “These are hard.”

“So was Med-School.” Clary quipped back. 

He gave her a look and sighed. He tossed it in the air, pommels flipping over themselves. “We only have one set of these.” He told her as he jerked his arm, elbow extending from an L to a straight line. “And this is why.” he almost sighed.

Jace kept jerking his arm back and forth before a blade sprang forth. It was a couple inches in width and tapered out to a point a foot and a half or so from the faux pommel. “They're a pain to use and it's almost impossible to get the blade out in the spur of the moment.”

She was disappointed. It felt like they had called to her, like she felt a kinship to them. She steeled her mind. It never hurt to give it a try. 

She checked for the pommel with the slit in it, the heavier side. Clary held it loosely in her right hand and remembered what Jace did. He was jerking his arm, violently so, and it didn't open. Innately, she knew that there had to be some force to it. It might not be the elbow though, she pondered. 

She tilted her wrist and toward her, arm extended at her side, and flicked it quickly. With a slight metallic sound, the blade sprung from the faux pommel and extended downward. 

Her eyes caught Jaces, awe apparent in his. “How… how’d you do that?” he asked, awe bleeding into his voice and face cracking in a smile. A breathy laugh escaped, running from his lips and out into the air. “Damn.”

Clary could feel her cheeks pulling up. Eyes wide, she looked at the extended blade in Jaces hand. She held out her left hand and Jace handed it to her, hilt and pommel first. 

With a flick upward, this motion harder for her than the flick downward, the blade collapsed in on itself and disappeared into the faux pommel. Clary repeated the motions again and again, listening to the blades sheath and extend themselves. 

She stepped back from Jace, the blades sheathed. It reminded her of what she did after the incident in the warehouse in New Orleans, training and training and promising herself she wouldn't be a victim again. 

One of the things she trained in was hand to hand combat, both with fists and blades. It had been a while but she still remembered the movements and the motions. It was ingrained in her, woven so tightly to her soul and blended into her DNA. 

There weren't any mats in her line of sight, but she continued anyways. Moving herself until she was a few paces from Jace, she took a deep breath and centered herself. The problems in her mind melted and drifted away, a baser part of her brain was coming out to play. 

Clary flicked the blades and twirled them experimentally. This was going to be fun. She turned the pommel in her hand, the blade extending from her pinky. Her knees automatically bent as her left foot moved backwards. She swung her arm in a wide arc, the blade following diligently. She undercut that swipe with another from her left hand, crossing her arms over themselves, before switching the way the blade faced again. She ripped her arms back to their original sides, metal flashing under the fluorescent. 

She loved when she was like this, mind clear and world reduced to her and what was directly in front of her. She didn't know if people were watching, she didn't care. All that existed was her and her blades, ripping apart the mental image of the men who grabbed her that Halloween night. 

With the adversaries secure in her mind, Clary began practice. 

Her right blade whipped over her head while the other swung in front of her body. She twisted and twirled, blades flashing around her, as she blocked, parried, and attacked faceless men in black clothing. 

The fight was in her mind and she knew this. The set she was doing was a well practiced set of moves. Visualization of a target helped her. 

Clary leaned back and stabbed at her invisible opponent with one hand, the other flicking and flashing behind her.

With an exhale of breath, her arms returned to their sides. She flicked her wrists and the blades retracted, the metallic shinks of the blades now a comfort. 

Her pulse was racing and her chest was rising quickly. Clary would admit, she was out of practice. After not having practiced like this or with real blades, she had less stamina and was not as flexible as she used to be. She knew, instinctively, that she would be tired and sore the next day.

She blew out of her mouth, angled up at the fringes that had escaped her braid. Her eyes met Jaces and she smiled gleefully at the look on his face. Clary didn't know if she had surprised him or what but his face told her a thousand things. She saw relief, happiness, what could have been a touch of sadness, surprise, and… something else she didn't dare name or think. 

“I think I’ll take them.” she told him with a laugh, light and free. She loved the fact that she had this piece of her life back. Even though it was learned out of necessity and fear, she ended up enjoying the training and the work she put her body and mind through. 

Clary didn't like the day after day workouts and pushing her body. It helped her to forget, yes, and cloud her mind, but it was the end result that was worth seeing. She was proud of what she had accomplished in such a short time of training. 

She walked over to Jace, flipping the handles- hilts, she corrected herself -pommel end over pommel end in her hands, not really paying attention to him anymore. She was getting a feel for the weight distribution of the new weapons. 

She paused in front of him and moved to attach the hilts to the magnets that lined the harness. A sunkissed hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, halting her movement.

Clary glanced up, question on her lips and resting in the arch of her raised brow. 

Jace shook his head minutely, hand loosening on her wrist. “The magnets on the belt will mess with the metals in the short swords. It's why they have their own bands and attachments.” he told her, gently holding her wrist. He handed her the coffee he was holding, knocking it against the hilt still in her right hand. 

Clary nodded and placed her hand back at her side, slowly sipping the room temperature coffee and watching as Jace rummaged around in some cabinets below the display. He was on his knees, head all but tucked inside the open silver doors. 

Try as she might, the thin line of skin that was revealed by his shirt pulling up was hard to ignore- to take her eyes off of. Clary mentally barated herself. There was a mob after her and she wasn't in the right mind space to be thinking about this, about him. 

He was tanned- probably everywhere, she assumed -and the soft ripple of his muscles was hard to miss in the well fitting t-shirt.

Clary ripped her eyes away, thoughts about him being forcefully pushed aside and into the little box in the back of her mind where not even Jon would care to venture. This wasn't the time and this wasn’t the place. She couldn't say though that she didn't have a knot in her stomach as disappointment flooded her veins. 

She couldn't, in good conscious, allow herself to drift like this when she didn't know his intentions. The man was kind to her, sure, but she didn't know why. It was frustrating, not knowing all the answers. 

A soft hand brought her out of her own mind. It didn’t rest on her elbow but on her wrist.

The red head glanced up into concerned golden eyes, Jace's eyes. A small frown tightened his face, worry etched in the soft lines around his eyes. “You know you don't have to do this right?” he asked, voice comforting and low. 

Clary nodded quickly, “I know. I think it's something I have to do though… you know?” She told him quickly. Letting him have this answer would distract him from what she was actually thinking. 

She watched as his eyebrows furrowed, lips thinning into a tight line. Seeing his confusion, Clary elaborated. “They took my sense of security and safety from me. I want to help you guys take something from them.” 

The golden haired man nodded, dropping the subject and keeping his hand on her wrist. His fingers tapped the inside of her wrist lightly but it felt like the vibrations resonated throughout her body. 

“Pick out a couple more weapons before we head over to the firearm wall. All of these will work with the magnets.” he told her, voice leading her back to the present. She handed the retracted hilts to him and continued her search.

Clary moved to grab a serrated rubber hilt knife and a long smooth bowie style. The rubber hilt attached nicely to her right hip, the other at her left ankle. 

She grabbed another on a whim, a short dagger, and attached it to her left arm between the elbow and shoulder. She didn't know what she would need and ‘better safe than sorry’ had been a montra of hers for a while. 

After she had chosen her pieces and turned away from the wall and to Jace who was holding the retracted hilts and their holsters, smiling gently. 

He waved them lightly and Clary smiled back, stepping lightly towards him.

“These,” he started, waving the hilts that were now encased by a dark grey cover that shined, “are the sheathes for the short swords. They are controlled by pressure and easily open along the hinges.” the light haired man handed one to her.

He took one of the pommels and pulled on it lightly. The hinge snapped outward and the hilt was freed, all within the blind of an eye and totally soundless too. 

Jace held the hilt loosely in his hand, it rested familiarly and softly. He lightly pressed the hilt to the thicker part of the sheath, barely touching it before the hinges snapped closed with a small click.

The read head nodded lightly, face framed by the escaped pieces from her braid. She set the coffee down and copied Jaces demonstration, catching the subtle movements correctly. 

He motioned to Clary to turn out her wrists. “The only place this can reasonably go is the inside of the wrists, far away from the other magnets.” 

Tanned fingers lightly grabbed her wrist, brushing the inside of it before slipping wrapped velcro straps over her fingers. He tightened them, the cold bands resting nicely. 

Overall, the sheaths were not heavy. Awkward, yes, but not heavy. The curly haired man next to Clary reminded her to grab the coffee before they moved on.

Clary followed Jace to the wall of guns, darting around the ever growing people on the way. She didn't know how many people were assembled, Jace had said the number was only around 50, but there were people everywhere.

They arrived at the gun wall, magazines and clips removed and a metal rod in the chamber of each gun. Jace explained to Clary how the wall worked, saying that “...the magazines and clips- depending on the firearm -were being guarded by Seb and Jordan...” that day. Other times it was someone else guarding the stores. 

It was a system to prevent theft and to provide a level of safety and it made sense to her. 

She walked along the wall, polished metal gleaming in the bright overheads. Looking to Jace, Clary asked him quietly, “What would you recommend? I've shot before but I’m not educated on type.”

His eyes narrowed quizzically, brow furrowing. “Then should you be using one?” his tone was raised and Clary could practically hear the judgement, a parent to a petulant child. 

Clary stood, hackles raised. Explaining herself, justifying herself, to others was something that she hated. She had always looked younger than she was due to her height. In and out of the OR she had to justify herself to her peers, fighting to have her voice heard. 

Chin raised, green eyes met golden and she stared. “I was trained in forearms. I just don't know the layout of the building and can't immediately identify the year and make and model. It doesn't mean I’m some greenie. If I was, I wouldn't have even asked for knives or walked into this situation with you.”

After a pregnant second, a nod was all she received in return. “Fine.” he replied, voice flat and short, while reaching for some medium sized handguns and holsters that could attach to the magnets. 

He held the small nondescript handguns, one in each hand, and walked off. Clary hurried off to follow, his long legs causing her to lightly jog in order to keep up. The easy air of acquaintanceship- was that what was between Jace and her now? -had curdled and Clary could feel it hanging over her like New Orleans humidity. 

Jordan and another man, tall with dark hair, stood with rifles laxed against their shoulders, guarding a small room. Jace held up the darkly colored steel and the dark haired man ducked inside, coming out moments later with two handfuls of magazines. 

The curly haired blond turned to her, tension threaded throughout his body. He took the thin metal magazines- almost the same color as the handgun itself -and thrust them at her, his frustration screaming in the gesture. 

She took it and attached them willy nilly, reorganization could happen later. The holsters, like the magazines, attached to the magnets easily, pulling them off and on as she saw fit. 

Just like before, Jace walked off without her. Not even a goodbye or anything to the men guarding the door, certainly nothing to Clary that he would be moving again. 

She followed, as close as she dared while he was in his mood. She had seen Jace as he laid out on her table, bleeding and in pain, and the difference with which he treated his family, her, and his father. 

Clary hadn't seen the blond enigma at his worst, but it was still pretty close. 

The man in question stopped abruptly, Clary almost ramming into him. 

“I need to get ready. Stay with the Lightwoods and you’ll be fine.” Even though he was faced away from her, she could tell the words were directed at her. A tight voice to match the tight shoulders. 

He left shortly after, a parent dropping a child at daycare. Her supposed caretakers- though she would never call them that -was Alec, her brother, and Gideon and Gabriel- both of whom she still didn't know from one another.

Clary turned, watching Jace walk to wherever. A sinking feeling, an emotion that she couldn't place, festered in the pit of her stomach as she lost sight of her anchor in the sea of people streaming around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (2): 
> 
> I now know how this is going to go. I have a long term direction for this fic instead of just this part planned out. Quick question though, where would you like Clary and Jace and maybe some other people to go? I kind of know how I want this fic to go and they might need to travel places for that to happen. 
> 
> I have the next couple chapters planned out. Just curious though, does it feel like this fic is moving slowly? I think it does but it's also part of my writing style. It's a part of it that I hate but still… it's a part. Either way, I’d like to know your thoughts. I'm not very easy to offend so have at it! Lol.
> 
> Next chapter shits going down and Clary is finally going to be exploded out of a building… I've been waiting to write this for MONTHS!
> 
> Stay safe and healthy and help me come up with chapter titles! And please Review!!! They make me sooooo happy!
> 
> Also PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE vote in my poll on FanFiction! I have written one chapter of Colors and one chapter of the Chemistry of War (CoW) and need to know which one you would want me to write first. Please go vote. Please. Even if youre not an ATLA fan.


	9. TBD9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this was before monday… not the monday I wanted but… a monday!
> 
> Anyways. Gen chem lab hurts. Chem is impossible (seriously if anyone has study tips LET A GIRL KNOW!!!). I love movie nights- my roommate, a girl from across the hall, and I watched the babysitter and are going to watch the second movie in that series… It's kind of a bad b-list movie. 
> 
> Also my roommates sign says “Alan Rickmans fake nvdes” because it was thought up on 2 am and Dogma was a great movie. 
> 
> Anyways I’m going to the city tomorrow so… here you go. I'm in a great mood
> 
> Also huge thank you to a viewer on AO3 (because I’m on AO3 now) named SkylaRose who came up with the chapter titles! I still have to implement them… maybe tomorrow?
> 
> Anyways, Without further ado:

He hated her and hated her and hated her. At the same time though, he really didn't. She was impressive, sure, but she was also so frustrating! 

It wasn't that he hated her, Jace reconciled within himself. It was that, at the end of the day, he was jealous and frustrated with both her and others in his life. 

He didn't know why it was her though. Jace had been around plenty of women- had plenty of women. He could pick them up at bars and coffee shops. The only woman who had ever been more than a glance and a one night stand was Clary, redheaded enigma and menace.

He was distracted and -worst of all- he couldn't be. Jace wasn't allowed to be side tracked while he held the lives of his people- his men -in his hands. Yet, as he donned his own harness, filling it with knives and handguns of his own, Jace thought about Clary, about the girl that turned him on his head even though he had only known her a couple days. 

Jace had long since resigned himself to fleeting one night stands and endless bachelorhood. He had never felt the spark that Will and Izzy had described with their significant others. 

Jace remembered when Izzy had first met Simon, her reactions and the anger she displayed after coming back from talking to him. How her eyes were bright and sharp, makeup in the slightest hint of disarray.

She needed a tech consultation on one of Herondale Enterprises cases and Simon- being one of the newest tech recruits -was given her case. 

Jace had never seen her so angry afterwards, storming around with nothing to show for her hours in the city. He remembered her cursing and screaming, ranting and taking out her anger, then taking a healthy mouthful of whatever they had snuck out of his father's decanter. They got drunk together- not the first time, but one in a long line of times -and he listened as she described his messy hair and crooked glasses. 

“He's like a brown-eyed Harry Potter- yah know! From those… books?” She trailed off, makeup slightly askew and hair falling free from a clip. “Hair that will never sit right no matter what.” Another sip- mouthfuls were for the beginning -and she kept talking about his shampoo.

Finally, Jace asked what it was about him that had her so tied up. “Of all the men- supermodels and famous brainiacs -why was it some average Joe from nowhere USA?”

He would remember her answer for the rest of his life. “I don't know. Hes… He got under my skin and now he's stuck. I’d spend another day in the city fighting him and having him do pointless research just so I could see his face and hear his voice- even if what he says angers me.”

Years later and they were still together, happy as ever. 

It took Will months to finally work up the courage to talk to Tessa. Jace also asked him the question. They had been family forever- brothers for what felt like the same time -so he asked. 

Will, much younger and without a decent amount of the wrinkles he now possessed, looked into his coffee, a crooked smile on his face and joy in his eyes. “I don't know. It's just something about her. Time stands still when we’re apart and when we’re together it burns away in the blink of an eye.” A small chuckle escaped and dropped into his tea. The whimsical quality of his voice drifted on the stagnant air of the living room.

When Jace finally met Wills icey eyes, he didn't know what resided in them. He just… didn't know that emotion. Will's eyes were both glazed and clear, body calm and vibrating. He was soft and cutting all at the same time.

“I can smell her on me, on what she touched. I can practically feel her next to me, drinking tea and rolling her eyes. Most of all, I want to share and know everything about her. I want to tell her things and ask her questions.” He paused, stared into his tea and set his shoulders. 

“I want… I want her by my side so that- when I turn to ask her something and she's not there -she will be.”

He seemed to come to a decision then, a big one. What Jace didn't know was that he would be asked to go ring shopping with his pseudo big brother the next day.

Jace would also be the best man a year later. 

He didn't know what brought all the people in his life together. Their answers of “I don't know.” never sat well with him. How could you not know what tied you so intricately and intimately to another person? Sure, Jace had shared his body but… it was another thing entirely to share your soul. That's what lovers, significant others, boyfriends and girlfriends, and husbands and wives did with one another- they shared their soul. Jace had always believed there to be a reason why they were called one anothers ‘other halves’. 

He didn't know what connected him to the redheaded woman. Maybe it was the brush with death. His back and side still a glaring reminder of what transpired between them. Maybe it forged a connection between him and Clary because, no matter how hard he tried, she had taken up root and grown a tree in his mind. He could almost see pieces of her and him littering the branches of the sapling, hanging and twisting in the wind of his fleeting thoughts. 

Hints of memories long forgotten hung like photographs around the base. Pieces flashed of her face, a halo of pale light behind her head while all he could feel was pain. The moment she confessed her fears in the laundromat, soft curls framing her face and a flash of hope that exploded behind tight green eyes. 

At the very top was the last image of her face Jace pretended he never saw as he was walking away, eyes blank and shoulders fallen. 

She had grown a tree where none other had before. The scariest part was that- even though he couldn't seem to uproot her- he wasn't even sure he wanted to. 

Throwing the strap around his shoulder, rifle resting against his chest, Jace walked to the lineup, telling himself that he wasn't looking for flashes of red in the gathering crowds. 

The vans had arrived and everyone was climbing on them, grabbing the rails that lined the outside of the roof and resting their feet on the footpads. Hands were grabbing rails and everyone was making their way onto the vans. He didn't see a flash of red, or the white hair of her brother- not that he was looking, of course. Still, as the vans pulled out and to the designated address, he most certainly didn’t search for her. 

Hopping onto a van, Will on his left and Jordan to his right, they pulled out of the warehouse. People, who stayed behind to either clean or restock, closed the large rolling doors, light disappearing into the darkness around the other warehouses. 

He didn't know how long they travelled in the night. With the street passing below and the cool night air, it was easy to lose track of time hanging on the back of the van. There were few people out and about, fewer who took a double look at the SWAT stickers that decorated the sides and concealed the truth of the people on it. 

The buildings flashed by, rows after rows of tight small housing where the inhabitants were so lucky. They were oblivious to the battles Jace had to fight, atrocities he commited. Any person on the street would be appalled by Jace, by what he had done. What would Clary think? She saved lives on the daily so… what would she think of a killer? 

More importantly, Jace thought to himself, why did he care? She was just another person he saw and talked to and she would be gone. Eventually, their paths would split and then he’d lose her in a city of millions.

As much as he tried to get the redhead out of his mind as they neared their destination, she stuck- glued to his skull. It was only as they pulled up a few streets from the warehouse, the vans stopping just long enough for them to hop off, that the redheaded mystery faded into his subconscious, replaced with the cooling mindset that provided the focus he needed to lead. 

Jace dropped off the back of the van, landing lightly with a bend of his knees. The other- newer -people used a roll but, after doing this one and off for almost 20 years, Jace was a seasoned pro. 

They gathered again, groups branching off to flank the warehouse. With their rifles raised, Jace led the frontal assault, first in and last out- a trait he learned long ago -being put to good use. 

To his right was a flash of red- her -and then it was gone. He didn't go searching for her, he couldn't. Jace had a job to do and watching over Clary wasnt it. He had to hope that, between Will and her Seal of a brother, she would be well protected. 

The light tap of the boots of his brethren faded into the distance, around the streets and fanning out around the building. He had trust in his people, like the trust in himself, and knew that within minutes they would breach. 

With his left hand resting around the trigger, his right readying to level the rail of his rifle, he walked, men fanned out behind him. His mind fortified, nothing but the mission existed for him. Jace's back hurt but, with this mindset, there was no room for pain in the mission. 

The only sound was the soft footfalls of their booted feet, all the personnel having been taught to move like ghosts. A thin trail of sweat slowly made its way down his face, lingering in his eyebrow. Despite the night, it was warm- humid -and it stuck to his skin. He could taste the pollution of the outer city on his tongue, metal and dirt. 

They passed the dark windows and alleys, inhabitants and streetlamps alike all long dead in the portion of the forgotten NYC. Foot after foot, one in front of the other, they walked knees bent into their destinies. 

The warehouse, like all others, had rusted sides and a caving roof. The dull light was a beacon from inside, the only difference to show their destination.

There were no guards, the cocky assholes. It seemed that the Grandiose felt no need for a guard rotation. His phone, resting in a pocket on his thigh, buzzed once then twice. Three more buzzes in rapid succession signalled the different groups, they were ready and waiting for Jace. 

He leveled his rifle at the door, familiar weight pliable in his experienced hands as it rested against his shoulder. A quick flick with his left hand- index and middle finger straightened, wrist flicked forward twice in a quick one-two motion -then he walked up to the rolling doors, the others taking a place against the wall. Two men, boys really- since when did they get so young? -grabbed the doors and within a breath wrenched them open. 

Blinding white light from the warehouse flooded the street, illuminating all the dark hidden shadows. 

No one moved as they waited for the hail of bullets, no one breathed. Milliseconds felt like hours as the first piece of metal death passed the threshold. Then off they were, like poppers in a long gone fourth of July party. Bullets hailed into the streets while they waited for a lull. 

There, he perked, there it was. He moved, scanning the room quickly before overturning a table and ducking behind it. The bullets embedding themselves into the smooth metal of the laboratory table. 

A lab was unexpected, it spoke of permanence and residency in this city- their city -nevertheless, a lab was a welcomed find.

He knew that the other teams would be breaching now, coming in from the doors they found. Jace's team was the distraction, drawing focus and bullets, and it was the reason he had some of the best members in the initial breaching group. 

Jace trusted his people to move in behind him, upending their own lab tables and securing the positions. He didn't expect to be assaulted by the smell of coffee and vanilla and flaming red hair against a tight black top. 

She was here, the frontal assault, right beside him. Her green eyes bore into his and she was here in the bullets. He didn't understand. She was supposed to be with Will. 

The golden haired man watched, almost in awe, as she slid the slider back. Seconds after the bullet loaded into the chamber she twisted and crouched, fingerpad of her right index on the trigger. With a quick motion her arms were raised and she was firing back, bodies fell. Jace watched as the red headed enigma fired five shots and fell five bodies. 

She ducked behind the table as bullets rained down again, hitting metal. She glanced at him, porcelain skin slightly flushed from adrenaline. He must have been pulling a face because she cocked an eyebrow and mouthed “What?” before looking around at the other men behind tables. 

Glancing back, Clary looked him up and down, she evaluated him. “Your back open?” she asked before darting up and watching again.

Not waiting for an answer, Jace watched as Clary ran quickly to the nearest wall and ducked behind a pillar. She was… wow, he thought, staring after her. 

He barely felt hands on either side of his face before Alec was the only thing he saw. The head of straight black hair was in his face, Alec's hands fumbling around his body- poking and prodding to oblivion. 

Jace barely heard the panicked voice of his brother in all but blood over the bullets from both sides. “Where are you shot? Jace!” 

A quick slap to his face, Jace barely felt it. “JACE!”

The blond in question shook his head to dispel the thoughts. “I’m fine!” he yelled back. Curious as to why Alec was hovering over him like an expectant father. “I’m good.” 

Hands still cradling his face, the words did nothing to calm Alec who still had worry laced and tightened throughout his features. With a look Jace couldn't distinguish, Alec told him to get his head back to the present. 

Unwillingly, Jace looked at the redhead. All he could feel was awe of her. 

When Jace tore his gaze away, Alec was looking at her too. With another unreadable look on his face, Alec lightly poked Jace on the cheek with a single finger- the same way he would when they were toddlers and children -before running to a table further away from the door. 

Cursing himself, Jace saw that his men, the people he was supposed to be leading, were all in front of him doing what they were supposed to do. 

He ran up and joined them, taking the time to look around at the empty cages and long black bags. 

Off to his left someone screamed and he saw a body drop- one of theirs. The poor kid, pale in complexion, had a bullet through the skull. Worst of all, there wasn't any blood. Looks Jace had seen on too many other kids' faces, his eyes were open and there was no blood coming from the wound, even gravity giving no repreaval for the blood. 

He needed to refocus, a clear head when all he saw was fog. It was thick- the kind that rolled over Manhattan from the East and Hudson. 

The curls slapped his face and he violently shook his head. Upon another look as Jace shot down some more of their men, the Circle was well on their way to taking the warehouse. 

The last of the Grandiose personnel fell soon after, the pops trailing off like the end of popcorn kernels. 

There were doors to offices that littered the sides of the warehouse- he didn't see that, why didn't he? -he thought to himself. Him missing details was new. 

Without his instruction, the men started opening doors to look for stragglers or other people. He usually gave these orders, controlled how the op went… not now though. Jace felt like he was drowning slowly, confused about up and down. 

He came back to himself quickly when a woman screamed. Jace's head jerked and he saw Clary storming out from one of the offices in the back, murder written in her eyes. That was when he noticed the woman on the ground, a lightly tanned blond in a tactical vest. 

She had her hands up, voice a myriad of melodic throat sounds interrupted by a flick of her tongue. Jace didn't know what the woman was saying or the language she was speaking but, based on the look in Clary's eyes, the blond was lying. 

Clary flicked the right blade out, threatening stance and bared teeth. In that moment, she looked like a wolf. 

A circle was forming around them, filling in gaps and making blockages. No one was raising their rifles though. 

Jace pushed through the men in time to see Clary punch the woman in the mouth, all tight curves with a whipping braid. 

The woman pulled a serrated knife from a sheath behind her back and held it loosely in her left hand, recovering quickly.

Jace stepped forward, pulling a small pistol from a holster on his hip. Just as he was about to step into the circle with the women, a hand pressed against his shoulder. To his side was Will, shaking his head at him. “While you were out of commission- don’t give me that look of course Alec told me! -she stepped up. Back off little brother.” his cousin told him. 

For whatever reason, Will was taking her side on his op. 

With an eye roll, Jace resigned himself to watching and waiting. 

Out of the corner of his eye Jace saw as the woman took an arcing swing at Clary. With a light backbend, the redhead completely dodged the blade. Instead she used the momentum of her backbend to swing and kick out her foot and kick the blond woman in the jaw, whipping her head around. 

Bent knees, Clary returned to a resting position with her fists curled loosely at her sides. The blond woman had at least a half a foot and twenty pounds of muscle.

“Where are they?” Clary asked, voice cold and unemotional. Her face was blank, a sheet of polished porcelain. 

The blond wiped her mouth, blood dribbling from the corner. “I don’t know.” A raise of the eyebrow and a playful smile loitering on pinked lips. 

No emotion crossed Clarys face, not even her eyes. Faster than Jace could track, Clary lunged with the blade, fainting a thrust before quickly jabbing the other woman's kidney with impossible precision.

Jace watched in awe- it seemed to be the only word he could think of -as the redhead took the woman to the ground with her knees around the blonds neck. The blonds knife skittered away on the pavement, harsh scraping sounds trailing behind it.

Clary held her blade to the woman's neck, face unmoving. “Where are they?” 

The blond was unwavering. Clary let her up and pushed her into the wall of the circle. With a quick- “Hold her boys.” -the woman was tight with an order that should have been Jaces.

Clary looked at the blond appraisingly. Jace could see how she looked the blond up and down, barely lasting a glance in some places. The only estrogen in the room and it was against one another. 

A quick slash was all anyone saw of the metallic blades, glint in the bright lights. Wells of blood appeared from a shallow cut in the girl's armour protecting her torso. 

A drop fell from the blade, all it would give the floor. “Tell me and I’ll stop. Promise.” this was said with the quirk of a smile, twist of the lips. The wry look unbecoming of her pale features, pale lips- barely blush in color -and pale skin. 

Another slash, deeper this time, and a groan from the blond. 

It seemed Clary preferred to slash and cut her way through the problem. It certainly wasn't the most efficient- Jace had been all but trained in this, experience was the best teacher -but it was brutal and they didn't have time for nice and succinct. 

Another slash and another until her chest and thighs were littered in it. Jace watched as Clary took her bowie knife, speaking as she pulled it from its sheath. “The outer thigh is where epinephrine pens are injected. Do you know why?” she asked, trailing the knife up her own thigh. 

“It's because there is muscle, so much muscle in that one place on your body.

“Now the needle of an epinephrine pen is small, thin, and ultimately will cause no lifelong damages. This knife though…” a dark chuckle escaped from chapped lips as the crowd of men hung onto her words- their lips stuck in fish hooks to hers, “this knife will give you severe damage. That is if the Circle lets you live.” The knife was on the blond's thigh now, cutting through the fabric of her pants and revealing the tanned flesh underneath. 

The tip of the knife kissed her flesh and a small droplet welled. The blond squirmed, unable to get away from Clary and the men holding her. With a quick hand, the blade- with its dull edge and serrated edge -sunk to the hilt and she screamed. A desperate cry falling from bitten red lips shortly after. 

Tears fell from her eyes as red began staining the tan of her pants, both normal and human responses to her stimulus. Jace had been around enough scenes like this to know.

It was only Clarys cold voice that brought his attention back to her. “Where are they?” same voice, toneless and flat. The only emotion being fake. “Tell me.”

Clary held up her other knife, the smaller one with a rubber handle, and twirled it with well practiced precision. Where she learned that, Jace didn't know. It was another thing he desperately wanted to learn about her yet, it another distraction. 

She ran it around the cut parts on the blonde, unrelenting and almost playful. The knife wasn't breaking skin but it was certainly intimidating to be on the receiving end. 

Another sentence from Clary, another whimper from the blond, and finally she was spilling. 

A small sob broke, fractured and bleeding from her lips- dripping like her skin. “I don't know where they are! B-B-B-But they have me take them to a building by the ocean.”

With the knife now in her face, the broken woman was sobbing. A light thrust, not enough to touch her, from Clary and the other woman was blubbering through another sentence as she shied away from the blade in her face. 

“I don't know anything else!” 

The blond woman was falling apart at the seams. She obviously wasn't a trained recruit so why- out of all the people in the building -did Clary choose to single her out and torture her? There was something Clary knew that he didn't.

With any other person, he would have already stepped in. It was his mission and his op and his ass on the line if this went end-over-ass. Yet, as he watched the girl who had controlled him so wholly with just a glance and the mind of a genius, Jace couldn't find it within himself to do anything but watch. If it had been anyone else, Jace would have shaken off his brothers hand and stormed into the makeshift circle. This was her though. All he could do was watch patiently and silently and feel proud as she broke every single negative thought in his boys' heads. 

“She's yours.” 

The words woke him up again. Clary had somehow come to stand right in front of him, when he didn't know. She walked silently and he was lost, tumbling through his thoughts like thunderstorms in the summer.

A very inelegant sound, somewhere between a ‘yes’ and a ‘sure’ fell down his mouth and splattered onto the concrete floor. 

Jace told his boys to cuff her and move her to the vans. Clary had popped off to somewhere and he searched for red as the sea of people moved. 

A glimmer here, a flash there, as the crowd thinned out. The clean up crew would be there any second- to clean both the blood and the bodies and to return the warehouse to something the police could search and find nothing in. 

He finally found her talking with her brother. They were arguing, grand gestures and red faces being indicative of explosions yet to come. 

Jace arrived at their corner around the same time that Gideon and Gabriel did. All three of them making eye contact, silently willing to put off the filial feuds that their parents had incited long ago.

No one actually knew what the feuds were about. Money, power, status, inheritance, and a head at the table being probable causes. Either way, the children had long since come to an understanding with one another. 

For Gideon and Gabriel to brave the lion's den of his father's company and side business, Jon must have meant a lot to them. 

They arrived to a sitting Jon, face red and wildly gesturing. Jace may have not known what it was about yet, he would do his best to stay on the good side of the red headed bombshell. 

He caught the tail end of the conversation, Clary flashing a light around his face, and it was something regarding her education and status. 

She turned to him, big green expectant eyes. “Tell this moron that he needs to go to the hospital.” her voice was forceful, leaving no room for argument. Regardless, Jace promised himself to never argue with her- at least not too much.

Before he could get a word in though, the blond man on the floor spoke up, tone biting. “I'm fine.” he said, like a parent to a child, speaking to her in a condescending tone. 

A shot from a bullet, Clary fired back. “Which one of us is the doctor?” 

An eye roll and a finger was all she received. 

Deciding to step in and actually learn what was going on, Jace knelt and took a better look at Jon. The tall man was usually tan, time in the desert did that to a person- Jace had asked Gideon where they were -yet he was pale and almost sickly under the bright overhead lights of the warehouse. Taking a closer look at the other man's dark irises, Jace noticed that his pupils were different sizes. 

He looked back and up at Clary, confusion evident on his face. “What's wrong with his eyes?”

Another eye roll- it must have been a familial trait -and she explained. “There's pressure on his brain. Either he goes to the hospital now or I get him there when he goes unconscious. He has a right to refuse treatment until he can't anymore.” She shrugged lightly, nonchalance resting on her face. Her body, though, was tense and stressed, creases were deepened around her mouth and forehead. 

“We’ll take him.” voices near Jace- Gideon and Gabriel -spoke up. The men looked at their friend, disapproving looks written across their face and tied between their brows.

With a nod, Clary stepped aside. The brothers quickly took her place, lifting him and half walking/half carrying him out of the warehouse. 

Before Jace even knew what he was doing, he asked Clary if she was ok. He wasn't thinking and her reaction proved that it was the wrong thing to say. A steel mask dropped the second he said those words, everything about her became sharper and more aggressive. 

“Im fine.” Short and undoubtedly unsweet, she told him before she walked off. 

One of his boys, one he didn't know by name, came up and informed him that they were leaving in two minutes. Apparently they had managed to get an address from the now barely coherent woman. 

He followed the last of his men, watching as the cleaning crew, dressed in a fake yellow hazmat, started working on scrubbing the drying and pooled blood that stained the smooth floors. 

He followed them out to the vans, men and women hanging off the backs of them. Some of them began rolling away and with a slap on the back of the van he hopped on, theirs rolled away. It was times like these, when he had nothing to steal his focus, that his injuries demanded and stole his attention away. The pain that had been so dutifully repressed by adrenaline and sheer stubbornness always came screaming and kicking back at these in-between moments.

Looking around, he had lost Jordan and Alec in the mix of people, many faces moving many places made a great concealment. It was not uncommon for them to venture and end up on different vans. 

The ride was unspectacular. It was the early hours of the morning, only 3-4am and the sun had not yet risen. Though it was the city that never slept, 3 am saw the return of partiers to their apartments and it was still a couple hours shy of when the early workers would end up at work. 

Raids and other things usually happened earlier in the night then this. The darker hues of midnight were always a better cover than the beginning hues of the morning. When Jace and whoever chose to sleep in the house would return, it would be these hours of the morning. It was the only time he felt like one could take a breath in the city that never slept, the only time that it could be considered ‘sleeping’. 

Jace looked up at the clouds, dark and ominous. It had rained just days ago and, from the colors, it looked as if they would be pouring again in a few hours. 

Jace breathed a sigh, watching the ground and the sky as he raced around the back alleys of New York on the back of a falsely labelled van doing things that people could only call unsavory.

It was hilarious really, he thought as they arrived at this new building, the things he did were things that people always swore they could never do. He learned a long time ago though… everyone was a killer, you just had to apply the right pressure. 

People never realized just how far they would go in instances that they could never dream of and, as he surveyed the other men around him- still decidedly not looking for a flash of red -he saw how young, innocent, and full of hope they were. 

There were many things that he loathed about his life and job, the hours, secrecy, and threat of jail time to name a few. However, one thing that he hated was how it turned young boys into men, breaking them in the process. Everytime he watched men- boys really -as they fought and watched as they died or killed, he remembered why he didn't want kids. He didn't want children to grow up in this… this… this- thing that he did. He didn't want to slowly watch the loss of his humanity that he saw in the boys that joined their ranks. 

He hopped off the van, boys and men following. He grabbed his rifle, holding it aloft. He trusted his boys to fall in rank behind him, preparedness on a certain location wasn't always a guarantee. 

They walked, a shorter distance this time, around the corner and to the warehouse. It stood, docks to one side and a street to the other, side by side with warehouses in their forms of rank and file. 

He walked slowly, knees bent, and waited for his phone to buzz. It was Will's job as his number two to send the new location to Simon, who would then find schematics and receipts. Jace was expecting a floor plan and paper history any minute now.

As they were moving into position, his phone buzzed. Taking it out of his pocket on his thigh, Jace saw the schematics. A very large basement, two floors with offices lining the walls of both, and an open middle section of the bottom floor. 

Jace knew that the picture was already circulating with his other groups, aiding them in where to breach. In this case, Will was in the most favorable position to draw the fire. Now it was Jace's job to wait patiently for a signal. 

A slam and a crash came from one side of the warehouse, but no bullets. Except for the isolated incident, it was silent.

The door next to Jace was pushed open, Jace raising his rifle to meet the other end. Instead of Grandiose personnel, his rifle muzzle was kissing the forehead of a boy wearing black- one of the youngest ones too. 

Jace glowered and stormed past, dropping his rifle to rest by the shoulder straps. Storming in, he saw a flash of red up on the second floor. Ignoring it, he looked for black.

“What the fuck Will?” he yelled when he found the man.

The curly black haired man shrugged, careless and tired. “I don't know. We breached and no one fired… so I went in with my boys. As you can see we’re in the process of clearing the whole building.”

Another shrug, another careless gesture. “Hopefully I can get to Tessa before daybreak. She worries.” 

Jace just shook his head. He felt he would never understand the draw to another person like that. Sure, he disliked the job but… he couldn't imagine giving it up for a woman. What would he do then?

As his thoughts swirled, he was oblivious to the redhead searching one of the main offices on the second floor. It was only as an explosion rocked the building that he realized Clary had ducked into that office. Smoke billowed out and his heart stopped. He cared.

So this was love…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... not much here. Review please... they bring me joy. Also vote on my poll on FF for what story you would like to see next.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Did you really think I would kill Clary?!?!?!?!? I pride myself on not angering my reader too much.
> 
> Anyways I could make a bunch of excuses about how I was in a hurricane, am a freshman in college and still getting my shit together, as well as having to deal with a bunch of family shit but... nope.
> 
> Im not gunna think about it so... yah. Here it is. 
> 
> Just listen to anything by the score. I basically had them in mind when I was writing this.
> 
> WARNING CLARY goes into a PANIC ATTACK in this chapter. If this is a trigger then please be warned.

She ducked into the office, searching for anything and everything that might be of use. Clary knew that there was a basement in the building, it most likely had the children in it, but she wanted this over. They would not get to hurt other children and women like she had been hurt. 

Her thoughts circled back to the blond, to the woman she tortured. It was unexpected of her but… Clary just couldn't help herself. It was something that was deep and dark and thoroughly terrifying. She was a surgeon! Clary shouldn't have even been thinking of using her medicinal knowledge on another human to hurt. 

Yet, the blond, Clary remembered her clearly from when they were both in the cage. 

She had always done her best to forget her time there, the horrible nightmares and sickening daydreams. It had not been long enough since her last nightmare, waking up in a cold sweat with hair stuck to her forehead and twisting itself around her neck. It felt like a noose, like the hands of the man that had grabbed her from behind. 

She wanted to forget the smell of fire- woodsmoke that had saturated her happy memories of summer rotted into the charred smell of… something. It was only something that she had smelt once since then, a firefighter stuck in the blaze. 

Clary didn't remember what had happened. She smelt the sweet- almost candy smell -of charred skin and, next she knew, rain was soaking her skin on the roof of the hospital, lightning on the horizon.

Mia had found her, both much younger than they were now, and gently placed a blanket over her shoulders. The rain soaked through, cold met cold and Clary couldn't even shiver. 

She didn't remember how she got home, whether she got a ride with someone or if she had ridden the subway like that. All Clary knew was that she had ended up at her shitty apartment in warm, dry, clothes, Mia having never brought it up. Clary wouldn't have said a word, not to Mia and not to her family. How would you talk about it with others if you couldn't talk about it with yourself?

Seeing the blond, it brought up every single horrid thing she had ever felt about the cage and how weak she felt at times, like it was a struggle just to breath. Sometimes someone would motion too fast and she could feel it, him, with hands around her neck and blackness creeping into her vision. It was only when she was wholly focused, on surgery or her workouts, and adrenaline pounding its way through her body that she felt in control, powerful, alive.

So, seeing one of her cage-mates in the tan of the Grandiose, she lost it when she saw the blond. 

Either way, Clary hoped the bitch was dead. She understood survival- hell, that's what she did -but there was a huge difference between learning to protect yourself and joining their side. 

So she kept moving, kept her mind swirling and whirling so that it didn't focus on any one thing in particular. Kept her mind spinning as she held onto the rail of the van, as she was a part of the breach team despite being the medic, and as she ducked into the offices lining the top floor, searching for a fight. 

She threw open the door, small handgun leveled at the long empty table. It looked to be a conference table, chairs neatly pushed under the polished wood, with a shine from the lights in the main area. She glanced around the room, a closed door to her left and a grimy thing taking up a large portion of the wall next to her. Looking about the room Clary saw that the thing was a map, its edges torn and smeared in dried fluids. Light from the brights in the open center of the warehouse flooded in behind her, casting shadows and pricking her mind with thoughts of hidden assailants. After already being on edge from the cages, Clary could almost feel hands around her neck. 

Rubbing lightly with one hand- an unconscious tick after years of looking behind her back -and gripping her gun tighter, Clary moved towards the map. 

Despite being faded, Clary could see arrows demarking certain places on the map. Long arrows sliced through the oceans, mapping from France to the coasts of the Americas. It cut down to South America and flew across to Quebec in Canada. There were no spots on the Pacific Coast but, as she got close, Clary could see other trade routes demarcated in other colors, gold for the Circle and green for the Yakuza as evidenced by their placements on the maps. 

Seeing where it was pinned to the wall, Clary pulled it off. Carefully minding the delicacy of the paper. She rolled it up, the large map over two feet tall. 

Quickly, Clary stuffed it under the straps of her harness. Fitting it under the bands around her torso and hips. She moved to the side door, leveling her gun, Clary twisted the doorknob. Faster than a flash, Clary threw open the door and pointed her gun at shadows. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a dull young light through the small window behind a desk. 

There were shelves lining one wall, barren but for a bible. A couple metal lockers sat behind the desk by the window, their locks missing. Just like the table, the desk was polished and new, it had been taken care of in the recent past. 

Except for the low rumbling of people coming from the main area of the warehouse, Clary couldn't hear anything. The room was silent and, due to the low amount of noise from the masses of people outside, she believed it to be sound resistant if not soundproof.

The desk was immaculate, not a single thing on it. Clary looked to the drawers, opening them and rummaging around. In the top left she found the normal office supplies; ruler, pens and pencils, sticky notes, and an empty gum wrapper. It was funny, the thought. Even the bad guys needed to visit Office Depot. Such a mundane thing, something that connected the sides through necessity.

She stopped. There really wasn’t much that separated her side from the side of those taking children. Just morals and a different experience. 

She shook her head, throwing thoughts of morality and her coming to the present moment from herself. She was here for a reason. It wasn't to debate with herself the fine line that many walked on a daily basis or the miniscule differences that separated her from them- though, in her personal experience, everyone bled red. She was here to banish thoughts of the cage and the horrors from her mind. Work her body until she was tired enough that the nightmares couldn't find her in the night. 

So she opened more drawers and saw more office supplies and empty spaces. Clary kept moving, kept searching. She moved to the last drawer, a taller one that she had hoped there would be files in.

She knelt down to open it and the manilla was almost spilling out, it was piled in so thick. Pulling them out, Clary felt her hackles raise. She whipped around from her kneeling position, gun levelled. 

Nothing would satisfy the tightness in the back of her mind, the feeling that someone was there- something was there. It felt different than the ever-present feeling of hands around her throat. 

She stopped, full body pause, and inspected the drawer first. Seconds were passing and the feeling of ice flooding her veins wasn't leaving. Clary looked closer, a small razor thin wire was connected to the inside of the opened drawer. Lightly tracing it with her fingers, Clary followed it inward and deeper into the cabinet. 

She ripped out the files, barely able to wrap her hands around their girth. She saw a blinking light and a quiet ticking sound was barely audible. 

With a dash Clary lept towards the metal lockers, files still in hand. A noise louder than she had ever felt before and heat raced around her. Wrenching it open and slamming herself inside, Clary shielded herself from the flames. 

Without time to catch a breath, she was airborne. Clary could feel a distinct weightlessness as the metal locker she was in flew. 

It was a peculiar feeling. One that she had never felt before yet, one that she knew regardless. The way she collided with the sides of the metal walls and the whole body landing when she hit the ground.

Her ears rang, loud and high pitched. Clary blinked, brain hurting. Everything was hurting. 

She opened her eyes to the metal, so much metal. So close too. It was suffocating, suffocating her. 

Without her command and without her knowledge her chest rose and fell quickly, breath speeding up. 

Deep in her mind she knew, she knew that she was having a panic attack. Breath was quick and mind flighty. An elephant on her chest and tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. 

Wrapping her arms around herself she tried to stave it off, reduce it and compartmentalize it. After all the reminders of the cage, it was all she could see. The metal bars were all around her, closing her in and keeping her. Their faces swirled, dashing in and out of her periphery. Flinging her head side to side, she tried to catch the swirling ghosts. 

She began thrashing, fighting the demons of her nightmares. This was different then when she would wake up in tears, frozen in her bed. Now she could fight. Clary wasn’t laying on her arms this time, unusable. She was able to fight, just like in the cage. 

With a strong kick Clary broke open the door to the metal locker, escaping now like she had escaped then. Pulling herself up onto her knees she peered out, rays of light pulling over and between the buildings behind her. She could see her shadow in the pale light of the morning sun. 

Looking up, Clary squinted at the hole where the office was. Only hollowed out charred ruins remained of the room. Above it all, standing like a king above men, was Jace. Curly golden hair in a soft halo, his face had small cuts. 

An unreadable expression rested on his face, one of relief, joy, and a soft smile she didn't want to dissect. It was too much too quickly for her. After all, she had only known the man a couple days. 

Clary felt for the map, finding it and the files she managed to grab she got out. She stepped onto the concrete, delicate as a newborn fawn, and looked up at him.

A small smile on her face, no doubt a few tear tracks down her face, “I'm good with never doing that again.”

She looked around, men in the Circle uniform milling about. Chuckles emanating from their lips. 

It felt like hours but was really minutes and Jace came down wrapping her in a much needed hug, engulfing her senses and calming her heart. Jace was all she could see and smell. Clary tucked her face into his chest, giving herself this one moment to pretend to be normal. 

A deep inhale,forehead to the nape of his neck, and a shiver went through him. She smelt the salt of his sweat and a light coppery smell of blood. His natural smell, a mix of something metallic and vaguely like the soy sauce from earlier. 

Another deep inhale brought her mind to the surface. She felt his hand come up and tangle in her hair, the other around her waist. Even though he was messing up her braid, weaving long thin fingers into the tendrils of her curly hair, there was something cathartic and nice about it. Almost domestic.

Pulling back lightly, Clary reached for the files tucked into her hands and the map. “I found these.” she said, handing the paper over. “Hopefully they’ll be of some use. I want to visit my brother though.”

Clary didn't know where those words came from but they were true all the same. 

Jace's eyes roamed her face, searching for something. Finally he nodded, “We have to check on our injured. I'll give you a ride.”

With those words he stuck his finger in the air and made a circle, sharp whistle to accompany it. Men started gathering around Jace, flocking like birds and awaiting orders.

She didn't know where the cars came from, didn't care either. Clary had long since stopped questioning the ways that he and the Circle worked. They were normal cars, the ones that had been stored in the Circles warehouse. 

Will came over, an inch shorter but not lacking in presence. “I've got a team sweeping the surrounding area and scrubbing our presence from this building.”

“The first responders and authorities?”

A low chuckle escaped, an eye roll followed. “Everyone of importance knows to stay away from the docks for now. Certainly people will be here but… that's why we've got the uniforms.”

A nod followed this one and the men changed topics to the teams. Clary though, couldn't follow the conversation. She just… so lost. The light was also so bright. The cold sun of the young morning was ever rising and blinding her eyes. 

A hand on her shoulder brought her back. “Hey are you ok?” 

It was Jace. 

Clary nodded lightly, “I’m fine. Just want to see my brother.”

“Alright. The cars over here. We’ll take my truck.” With a guarded look, Jace motioned to the same one they had travelled in to the laundromat just hours ago. 

Was it only just hours ago though? Clary wondered, how, how in the world had all this only happened in less than 24 hours? She didn't know, she didn't understand how her life had taken such a 180. Sure, Clary remembered the verbal deal she made with Stephan but, that deal was only to act as a medic. It wasn't for what she had ended up doing. 

Clary followed Jace to the truck and got in when motioned to. She felt like she was on autopilot, hands and feet moving of their own accord, and her head was fuzzy. Not spotty, just fuzzy as though someone stuffed it full of cotton. 

The trip to the hospital was quick, mostly because she was stuck in her own head. They pulled up and hopped out, Clary staring at the imposing white building the entire time.

With a joyful smile and light eyes Clary looked on. “That's where I work!” Turning to Jace, she grabbed his bicep. “Am I late to work?” She could feel her nose scrunch and eyes narrow, curiosity sparking.

With a light shake of his head, Jace flipped the grip and grabbed her bicep. A click from the locked truck and he began pulling her towards the emergency side of the building. Despite being early morning and the flip of a rotation, the entryway was packed with bodies. 

He kept pulling her along, face searching on a swivel for someone. Clary was hesitant to pull back and tell him that his grip hurt but she was so tired. So tired that Clary allowed him to keep pulling her until he found whatever he was searching for. 

They stumbled into Mia moments later. “Clary?” she asked, surprised tone obvious in her voice. “Clary what are you doing here?”

“She needs help.” Jace spoke up before Clary could formulate an answer. She was slow, she noticed. So… slow. Brain with cotton. 

Clary laughed at that visual, out loud. The other two people were looking at her with strange looks on their faces.

“What?” she asked, innocently. Truly not comprehending why they would be looking at her like that.

Quick and low words were discussed between the two, head tilts to chins. Feeling left out, Clary decided to make herself known. “I have to go.” an accent she had never had before slurring her words. “I… I-hmmm. Rounds. I have… rounds.”

“Ohh no no.” Mai said with a light chuckle, holding Clary back to the bed the entire time. “The interns will be rounding on you. They need the practice.” 

Clary didn't catch the affectionate, laughing tone of her longtime friend. So, with a serious nod Clary replied. “Of course. I thought the blond was looking extra lost over there.” Mia followed Clarys finger to one of the new batches of interns. 

“Oh. One second.” Mia said before leaving, the blond actually needing guidance. 

Jace sat at her bedside, thoroughly amused. 

Not understanding this, Clary searched his face. “What?” 

A small chuckle from pale bitten lips fell while he played with the long fingers of Clary's hand. “Just watching you. It's a rather good show.” Smirk alight on his face and in his eyes. 

“Why are we here again?” Clary asked, unsure of why she was in the bed yet content to stay there regardless. 

Confusion flitted across the blond man's face. “You wanted to see your brother and I wanted to see to you.” His reply felt like water across weather smoothed stones. 

“Brother? Why? I haven't seen him in years.” Clary wracked her brain. Why would she care about that asshole? He had left, left mom, left Oregon, left her. She sniffed lightly, not realizing how close to crying she was. “I hate him,” Clary put so much emphasis on that one word, trying to believe in herself that she hated him, “so why would I care?”

She could hear the water in her voice, lapping at the edges of her control as a gentle tide. Clary sniffed again. “He's in the hospital? Good riddance.”

Jace's frown deepened.”Surely you don't mean that?” He said, a placating tone.

Hey eyebrows knitted together. “Why wouldn't I? He left me and mom and I needed him.” A breath of forced air flew from her lips. “I was so young and he just left one day. I don't even know where he is.”

The tears started at that, rolling quietly as she was lost in the memories of coming home and finding his bed empty. 

She had been young, so young. Her mother was at the gallery, selling pieces and giving classes. They had barely been able to buy the little building but it was already a huge success. Things were finally looking up for once, money was flowing and the fights amongst them had gone down since the celebratory vacation they had taken. 

Clary had come home from school, midterm report card in hand, and found his room barren of clothes. She had run to her mother's room next, finding the largest of suitcases missing. 

Clary was lost in the memories of her brother, something she did her best to ignore, when Magnus approached.

Cheshire smile and perfect hair, “Lookie lookie at what the cat dragged in!” A special glance in Jaces direction, and his subsequent nod, went unnoticed by Clary.

“Bane!” Clary squealed. Joy renewed in seeing him again. “It's so bright. First it was the sun and now these damn overheads. Are they necessary?”

There was another light laugh coming from somewhere- Bane probably -before a harsher one was flicked over her eyes.

Clary bit back a gasp and held the back of her hand over her mouth. “I asked for dimmer not direct.”

The light eased up and Clary looked back around, blinking spots out of her eyes. “I dont… I dont feel great.” She made sure to tell him. It was something she just had to do. No control and no filter.

A conversation was taking place above her, snippets passing through.

“Her hearing?” - “Not great. I had to…”. “Balance?” - “... Practically dragging…”. On and on it went as they talked above her. Clarys mind attaching itself to small aspects and fleeting words. 

Finally, Bane turned to her. Though he wasn't wearing the flamboyant dress of usual, he still had the same presence and aura that stole your attention and made you look to him for guidance. 

He had always been one of her favorite people. 

“You definitely have a concussion.” Bane told the curtained room, making a quick note. “Now I just have to look for other broken things, so tell me, what hurts?”

What hurt? What did hurt? She couldn't really tell on her body. It was so… cottony. The strug sh attempted hurt, and she told him so. Also her head, not a pounding but a solid constant pain. 

Bane felt carefully along her ribs, pressing and prodding where he felt necessary. There were a couple points that had her gasping and tensing, whooshes of air and tightened muscles. Otherwise Clary was doing fine. 

A small smile was cast in her direction as he stepped away. “You'll need your ribs wrapped. Change it every couple hours and make sure to keep it tight. Someone needs to make sure you don't die in your sleep.”

He turned to Jace then and Clary realized that they must have known one another. With a twirl of his hospital issued pen, Bane asked the one thing she hated most. “So you must be the mystery boy that Clary has the whole hospital in a tizzy over.” His smile grew ever wider. “I must say, I never expected it to be you.”

The curtain opened minutely and Mia slipped in. “You're already here.” she said with a frown. “I wanted the chance to doctor the undoctorable.” A pout that was not wholly true danced across her face. 

“But, hey, what's this about hot blonde,” she said, thumb jerking to Jace, “being your mystery man?”

Jace looked affronted, scandalized beyond all belief, that was all there was to the expression. “That did not happen. W-we-we did not do that! Everything was totally G rated!”

Clary laughed, straight from her chest- which hurt -but was worth it. She laughed and, without a further thought, spoke freely. “You on my table in your boxers was definitely not G!” In her mind she was thinking of the blood that poured from his wounds, how it almost stained the old wood of her table. 

“I was bleeding!” 

Clary laughed at his response- why was she laughing so much? “He was bleeding everywhere. So many towels to the laundry.” 

Bane raised his hands, a placating gesture to those held by the closed curtains. “I need to wrap your ribs so everybody out.”

Mia grabbed Jace and hauled him out of the curtains only returning to hand over some thick bandages. Bane, standing exactly where he was beforehand, moved to help her out of the harness. 

There was something peculiar about the way he undid the straps. It was methodical. The multitude of interlocking straps should have been confusing to him. “Youve done this before, haven't you?”

A low humming noise came from him as Bane took her straps down off of her shoulders. “I do this for my love sometimes. When he comes home off a long night.” 

Clary nodded lightly, too much movement harsh on her delicate brain. 

“Though I never thought Jace would ever see someone.” The dark haired man's voice brought her back. 

“Hmmm? Oh. Sense of debt. Life for a life you could say.”

Bane softly chuckled as he pulled her black shirt over her head, undressing to assess the damage. “They used to say that about his cousin too.” 

He took gauze and gently started wrapping her ribs, blinding white covering patches of black and blue.

“I don't know what you went through- whatever it was that changed you -but I’m here for you.” His magenta contacts meeting her green eyes. “Back to my riveting personal life though. My love works closely with Jace. It puts him in a lot of danger.”

Bane tucked the end of the end of the bandage into the wrap. “He's come home bloody and bruised before- and I patch him up. Over and over again. I've asked him to step back but… you know how these boys with their toys can be.” 

Smile tightened, Clary could see the lines around his eyes more clearly now. “Are you ok?” It was the most coherent thing she had said all day. 

“Maybe not now but I will be. He will be waiting at home when I leave in a couple hours. We will both enjoy that reunion very much.” He gave her a saucy smile and wink. Bane rummaged through some drawers and pulled out an oversized scrub top, helping to put it onto her body. 

He took her face into his hands. “Welcome to the family my dear. I am both ecstatic and upset that you are here. Since you know what to do for ribs, I'll give all post care information to Jace. Hell take great care of you.” With that he walked out, not even giving her time to reject the offer. 

Within minutes, Jace was back in the curtain, he was hauling her up and out. He kept saying words. Words that flew in and out of her head but never stuck anywhere important. A strangled “Huh?” was all that came out of the confused cotton fog that ate at her mind.

They stopped right outside of the truck. “You haven't heard a word that I've just said, have you?” An exasperated sigh. “We're headed to your apartment to get you supplies for a few weeks. Then you're coming back to the house with me.”

Clary wrenched her arm away from him, bumping herself into the truck in the process. Two arms came around her and held her up, up and away from the truck.

“Careful now. You're still healing and need someone to wake you up often. It's only logical.” Jace helped her into the truck, hand on her arm and another wrapping around her waist.

He started the truck, warring expressions on his face. 

“Wait… whered the weapons go?” she asked finally, not realizing that they were missing until now.

“Took ‘em off of you. Mags is good about keeping things under wraps but I didn't want any questions asked. He’ll return the shirt and everything when he stops by later.”

“I thought he was going home after his shift. Said he needed to get back and make sure his partner was alright. A guy that works for you apparently.” Clary told him this fleetingly, without thought or consequence.

“Huh. I didn't know it was one of my boys.”

Clary went to shrug and hissed. Damn that had hurt her. “I dunno who. He just kept calling him ‘My love’. Mags is wonderstruck and I’m happy for him. He deserves it.”

Jace's eyes were in the road, slowly weaving in and out of the traffic on the side streets, but he nodded anyways. “He seems happy.”

“I think he is.”

“But I don't think you are.”

Clarys breath stopped. Her awareness had been coming back ever since she had been removed from the adrenaline fuelled environment. Now, that hurt. Breathing hurt, not breathing hurt, everything hurt. 

A groan escaped as she began breathing again. “Definitely not right now.” She said jokingly, not wanting to actually touch on the subject. 

He seemed to be unwilling to let the topic drop. “I dont think youve ever been happy. Maybe when you were younger and had the innocence of a child but…” he left off.

Feeling her mind clear for the first time in a good hour or so, Clary knew she shouldn't allow him to get this close. “When you've been working your entire life for one thing…” Clary spoke carefully, choosing her words with care for the first time in a few hours, “then your entire life becomes about that one thing. What do you do afterwards when you have it? Search for something else? When you have been running for a large portion of your life… I just feel lost.”

His hands tightened on the wheel, a nerve had been struck. “I've always had my path put in front of me. It's something that was non negotiable. Grow up and somehow manage both the Circle and Herondale Enterprises.”

Clary rolled that around. Pain and conscious thought was coming back to her in waves, one slamming home after another reminding her of their presence. “What did you go to school for?”

“Business. You?”

“Biochem. Is business the major you wanted?”

“Heh… no. Architecture. But that doesn't run a company. You?”

“Hmmm… I've always loved linguistics. Almost wanted to get a minor in Spanish. There were a lot of routes I could have gone.”

They didn't talk the rest of the way to the house, a somber affair. It was slightly awkward, an uncomfortable silence after sharing pieces of themselves held close. The air in the truck was stagnant without being heavy.

While in her apartment, Jace following, Clary grabbed changes of clothes, her computer and the cords for her electronics, as well as toiletries. She packed light, pulling together what was clean and what she could find. 

Moving to her kitchen, Clary pulled the perishable foods out- salad packs and fresh fruits and vegetables. Anything that could go bad in a couple weeks she loaded into reusable bags, thrusting the few of them she had at Jace. “This’ll go bad in a couple days.”

The ride back was much more talkative, Jace planning some meals in advance based on the supplies Clary gave. 

He turned to her, a small smile on his face. “Since you’ll be living with us for awhile, what would you like to eat?”

Forgoing the shrug as she had learned it would bring her pain, Clary sighed. “I’ll eat everything. Big fan of chocolate and fresh things. Smoothies are always great. Oh and I liked what you made… was that last night? Anyways it was good.”

Jace's smile burned brighter. It would figure that he had perfect teeth to go with just about everything else. “So the yakisoba was a keep?” 

A small chuckle fell almost unwillingly from her lips. “Yes, I liked the yakisoba.” she said, sun playing patterns on her legs through the lightly tinted windshield. “A smoothie or something with fruit would be nice also.”

Clary lolled her head to the side, eyes resting on the tanned form of Jace. He was nice to look at, she supposed. Clary couldn't put all the blame on her concussed brain. A small part of her was forced to admit he was pleasant. 

“What?” his amused tone caught her off guard. Despite not looking at her, Jace had known she was staring. Now she was caught. 

“Nothing. Tired. I felt more exhausted now than when I would come off long stints as an intern.” Clary kept smiling. Kept watching the man in front of her. This wasn't horrible, she realized. He wasn't horrible. 

Her life in just days had been fucked ass over end. Now though, now she was beginning to realize that maybe this was the best thing that had happened to her. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth breaking her own rules for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my dudes... better or worse cliffy than last time?
> 
> Next ch I how to have up soon. Its not written but... I would like to get it up before thanksgiving. Although Im going home for thanksgiving so I will have a lot of time to write. 
> 
> If you are on FF AT ALL please please please vote in my poll to see which story I will do next. Big thanks to all who vote!!!
> 
> Review please. They make my day. No seriously though... please review.
> 
> If you are a good artist then please hook me up with some art. Id love some of Happenstance!
> 
> Lots of love (cause we know the world and us americans could use it)
> 
> ~EC


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Guess who's back back back, back again ‘gain ‘gain. 
> 
> Yup I am here and alive and im crushing it. Lol maybe. I love it when yall read and review. I truly cannot get enough of it and all my love goes out to you, my readers. Internet hugz!
> 
> I will defend one thing though. This is NOT twilight. I am a little DISGUSTED by Edward and how he watches Bella in the books. Its DIS-GUS-TIN. Anyways with a concussion there is that necessary wake up and… well… you'll see. I feel the need to say that I tried to distance these occurrences. 
> 
> Anyways. I love you all and it's time for me to finally get some good sleep. Take care of yourselves and get the meals you need. Live your best life and read some good works of art. I can always start recommending them… if that's what y'all want.

The incident with Clary triggered memories of years ago when Will got shot. It was disastrous, blood pooling everywhere and a hole in Wills chest. Jace, still in his 20s, was screaming at anyone and everyone to “Oh god please someone HELP HIM!” because there was so much blood. 

It was an effort to get a foothold in Vietnam, where the Yakuza had a main distribution center. In the end, Jace's men had been slaughtered. Hundreds of men and some women from around the world had gathered as a small army to set up the post. The end goal, a goal that was never reached, was to distribute to the west coast of the United States.

Jace gripped the steering wheel tighter, vision flickering as his teeth made grinding noises that echoed through his bones. He couldn't handle the similarities, both warehouses that they were equipped to enter and a full guard with no medic. So, when reached the hole, getting as close to the outside portion of the building as he dared, Jace remembered how he looked down at her, relief flooding his very being.

He remembered registering the flash of red hair on the balcony as he spoke with Will, forcing himself to pay attention to what his brother was saying. Suddenly though, everything went sideways and he remembered how his heart stopped in his chest. 

He watched her now, head lolling and small smile on her face, as he drove her to his home. Clary didn't look good- she always looked good but now she was pale and sallow -and she was more than a little out of it. Her eyes were glassy, unfocussed as he tried to keep up a conversation. Jace could tell she was tired, probably unused to having to deal with long term adrenaline inducing situations like the one they had just gone through. His breathing sped up.

His mind flashed unwillingly to the warehouse, to the explosion. To how there was smoke and flame coming from the hole in the building. Hands gripped the steering wheel ever tighter and his vision blurred. 

“Pull over Jace.”

He turned the wheel to the side of the road, pulling over and parking the car. The minute the engine was off two small hands gripped his face, thin fingers cupping his cheeks as he found himself staring into apple green eyes. 

He noticed her breathing first, over exaggerated. Her words second. “In and out. Stay with me Jace. I'm here mi leon.”

Thin fingers brushed his cheekbones, delicate as they swiped liquid softly from his skin. Liquid? He hadn't even known he was crying. 

Clary kept murmuring things in Spanish, soft words blended together barely louder than a whisper. The language flowed in and around his small truck, it sang in his veins and caressed his brain. It ruffled his hair, reminding him of long ago summer days when he was taking German lessons.

Since the Circle and Herondale Enterprises did international business, Jace grew up learning key words of different languages to better understand their allies and enemies. He could speak fluent German at one point- though it had mostly fallen apart -and could understand both French and Japanese. By extension, Jace could make out certain words from the melody Clary was singing. 

She kept saying something about dreaming, a woman named Sofia, and hushed tones about looks- glances, maybe? -while the sounds from the flicks of her tongue resonated around the cabin of his truck. Jace couldn't understand most of it, he wasn't sure that he should though. He had found throughout his travels that, when faced with lyrical words in musical tones, it wasn't necessary to understand it, just appreciate it. 

His focus shifted and he grew more aware of where he was, who he was with. He followed her lips as she spoke about fire and the past. Someone moving on. 

Jace was slowly calming his breathing, heart racing. With tempered breaths, he brought himself back. Still staring into her eyes- her hands still cupping his face -Jace reached up to her wrists and squeezed them lightly. 

“Th-” He cleared his throat, chasing away the past minutes. “Thank you. I didn't know I needed that.”

Clary removed her hands, face still close to his. She studied him, up and down. He told himself that she didn't linger in spots or that it was concussion brain as the cause. He wouldn't- couldn't -allow it to be anything else.

After determining him of sound mind and health- how she checked was beyond him -Clary turned back to the windshield, pulling out her phone. Soft sounds of a plucked guitar drifted through the cab as various male voices joined into the song. 

“Are you good to drive?” The redheaded woman asked beside him, eyes still focussed on the dash and the deserted road ahead.

Jace nodded- a reflex -before remembering to reply. “Yah. I've driven with worse.”

He had. Jace had been the one on the phone- understanding every 10th word in rapid fire Tagalog -as he drove Will to the nearest hospital and out of the trees, leaving the battlefield and the failed attempts at an outpost.

It was only when a singer, his voice louder and higher than the last, sang into a brief silence that Jace came back to himself again. The whole drifting in and out of the past and present was disorienting. 

Jace shook his head, cobwebs retreating to the fray but not leaving in its entirety. Coming down from the adrenaline wouldn't allow him to disregard the creeping lethargy that threatened to steal his rational thoughts. 

Restarting the car was easy, getting back onto the deserted roadway was easier, but focussing on the road was hard as Clary softly sang along to a song in Spanish. 

Her voice followed the womans easily, rising and falling as if on command. The tune was familiar and Jace started humming it thoughtlessly. 

At the start of the second body he finally asked her about it.

“What song is this?” Eyes still on the road, Jace had to force himself to delegate a portion of his brain away from the redhead. 

Clary held the note as the singer did, hitting every foriegn word and every note. “Así soy.” Clary hummed lightly, following the bridge of the tempo. “It's the Spanish version of This is Me from the Greatest Showman. No offense to Keala Settle but Maite Perroni's version hits better.”

Jace hummed along as the final notes rang out, a lone car on the other side of the road their only company. “Why Spanish? I assume you learned a decent amount of it.”

A light chuckle sounded from her, body shaking slightly from the movement. Clary curled up on the seat, chin resting on top of one of her knees. Jace could feel her gaze on him. 

“Once upon a time ago I truly loved it. I ended up learning a lot but, as they love to say: ‘if you don't use it you lose it’. I don't remember much of it now. I can understand most overheard conversations and speak it a tad. Mostly though, I've lost the ability to communicate.”

“Oh.” Jace made a noise of slight surprise. He knew that she avoided the question but he let it slip past. Jace had always enjoyed German and it stuck with him, more so than either of the other languages he'd picked up over the years. The daily lessons were fine, not a hardship while he was younger and had more time on his hands. 

A slight shrug. “Any special reason it was Spanish?” He was curious. Jace couldn't be blamed for wanting to know just why she had chosen that language.

Clary let out a huff, laugh discarded half way through. “They spoke Spanish a lot of the time. There was some French too but around me it was mostly Spanish and it was just easier. After taking it in high school it was easy to transition that to college and to go further. I drove myself to understand, to figure out, to succeed. I did. I learned a lot. It was enough for me.”

Jace made a hum of approval, neither here nor there on the topic but a general acknowledgement of the statement and her past. 

As he drove, his mind wandered. It seemed as though the fireball next to him had built her life around that singular incident, around being taken. Jace wasn’t certified but he did enjoy the few Psychology classes he had managed to fit in around the Architecture courses and the Business major. It was because of that passion and those classes that he knew it wasn't healthy to build your life around tragedy. You didn't have to move past it, per say, but you did need to come to terms with it, not allow it to define your entire existence.

So he watched her out of the corner of his eye, how she stared- seemingly unseeing -at the trees and turnoff roads they passed. Her green eyes were tired, bags sagging from obvious lack of sleep over the last couple days. Clary was singing the Spanish songs that danced through the cabin, her voice matching the singers but falling flat, tired, and unfocussed. 

“So why NTC?” Jace asked her, hoping to start a conversation and keep her present in time. 

“Hmm? Oh. I wanted to find my brother. I knew if he was to go anywhere it would be to find out about our father. Would you believe they look almost exactly the same? Yet, Jon has outlived him. Anyways… what was I saying. Right, right. So I followed Jon who was following the footsteps of a man lost to time. 

“And I just kept moving. My entire life. I just… haven't stopped.” Clary shrugged her shoulders. “I lead people in the O.R. yet… all I do is follow or run.”

She stared out the window as the song ran down, something about it being the singers faults, Jace wasn't really sure. He was more invested in Clary at this point. 

She had brought up her brother, willingly. Clary had spoken about him yet, didn't ask how he was doing. He knew from experience that temporary memory loss was a common side effect. Jace resigned himself to watching her, paying attention to her words and when she was going to bring up her brother. Besides, Jace hadn’t heard anything other than that Jon was still on the table and stable. 

Bracing himself mentally, Jace began to poke and prod at her carefully erected walls of her emotions and mind. “So, it definitely started with your father?” Jace's voice was hesitant yet even. 

“No. Save the psychoanalyzation for when we’re friends. I didn't need a therapist then and I don't need one now.” Jace could feel her eyes boring into his own, intent to stay on the road. “Back off Herondale.”

Jace's hands tightened on the wheel. “Everybody needs a therapist, even you and even me. There's nothing wrong with that.”

A broken laugh sounded next to him. Jace tore his eyes away from the road, just for a second, so that he could glance at the woman next to him. The song was dying down, English this time, and the womans trailed off. 

Clary was curled up on the seat, looking much younger than the 32 years he remembered reading in the file someone had amassed about her. Copious amounts of hair had fallen from her braid and framing her face, the curls hanging limply. 

Clary flipped through songs, finally deciding on a slightly busy one where the singer kept on about world making. “You misunderstand me.” Jace heard the cushions shift and he just knew without looking that Clary was now chafing towards him. “Therapy is good but, for me, it's not the best option.”

A disbelieving sound slipped from Jace, a cross between a snort and a hum. 

“Im serious.” She said as the song changed again. It was like she wasn't able to settle with a song. Jace recognized one of Izzys favorites flow from the speakers of Clarys phone. Something about being human. He had known that much about it. 

Another shift, the seatbelt made a noise of protest. “I spent my life running from one thing to the next. It's kept me alive. The precautions I take, the little eccentricities I have, all of that has kept me alive to this point.”

Interesting. Jace filed that away, right next to the other unhealthy tendencies she had.

“I can feel you judging me you know.” Her voice interrupted Jace's thoughts. “Basic survival Herondale.”

That… that didn't sit right with him. He flicked the blinker and pulled off onto a road much like all other offshoots, hidden in the shadow of trees and surrounded by nature. “But isn't life about living? What's the point of living if it's not something more than surviving?”

Another broken laugh, each one a knife to his soul. Jace didn't want to focus on why they meant so much to him. “That's the conundrum isn't it? It's the fear of death that keeps me alive, even if I'm just surviving.”

Damn. “Well that's awfully morbid.”

He had to look at her then. Her eyes on his and suddenly he was looking into her soul. Broken and shattered in places, duct tape and mastery of tetris keeping together others. 

Clary sighed, a resigned sound that escaped from her nose. “There are moments when I don't feel so quite alone, so quite different. But I know that, even then, I will be different. Your experiences make you who you are. Mine make me someone that few people can relate to and that hurts. It hurts because…” her pause echoed in the silent cabin. A deficit of noise had never felt so large until now. “Because this is something I need to talk about but who in their right mind would believe me? They'd take my license, the only thing I truly enjoy.”

Jace pondered that. He had people to talk to. He had Will, a brother more than a cousin who he had been to hell and back with. He had Alec, another family member he would do anything for. 

Jace realized, then, just how surrounded by shoulders and people and experiences he was. He had people he could go to. Clary, with all her badass bravado and sheer survival, didn't. 

Jace had to stop the truck for the gates to let him in but he probably would have stepped anyways. It hit him so suddenly.

He leaned out the newly opened window to press the code into the gate. “I guess I can see your point of view. Are you sure there's no one though? What about your mother? Or Jon?”

The minute he let Jons name slip he knew he was fucked. Jace watched emotions flicker and flash across her face, confusion, recognition, worry, and guilt to name a few.

“Jon…” a hand covered her mouth, “Oh god is he ok? I know the surgeon who's probably working on him but…” a swift movement she made out of the corner of his eye had Jace turning to her, “What have you heard?” 

Jace saw her breathing speed up, mouth moving in intelligible words. Clary's eyes flitted, face to the gates before them to the empty bed of the truck and back again. 

On a whim, Jace grabbed her head in his hands. His palms cupped her cheeks and his thumbs brushed the skin under her cheek bones. “He's fine. Stable but still on the table.”

“I can't lose him again, Jace. The first time was bad enough.” the words fell unabashed from her lips, dripping down her chin and falling uncaringly to the floor. Her breath was starting to slow and Jace felt relief bubble up within himself.

Jace continued to stare at her, his thoughts swirling. He never quite settled on one but he knew that it was better that way. Constantly flipping between admiration and nonsensical words about how her brother would be fine, Jace continued to roam her face. Thin eyebrows and pale skin, a dark smattering of freckles decorated the bridge of her nose. Soft lines on a weathered face, eyes that flickered and flashed with emotion, and smooth pink lips.

He continued to brush her skin with his fingers, tell her it was all going to be alright, and ponder on her words until she was collected and Jace drove on.

()()()()()()

Having Clary stay in his house was a unique experiment. Jace usually never brought girls home- Tessa had commented on that with a light laugh -and he waited on her hand and foot. 

There wasn't much to do since she had been steadily sleeping, except for a brief wake-up period every 2 hours, ever since Jace had arrived at his home with her almost 7 hours ago. He would sit next to Clary, reading over documents from both the Circle and Herondale Enterprises as she slept, watching carefully for any signs of adverse trauma to her head and or brain. 

It wasn't hard to get her into the house and into a spare room doors down from his. Jace felt the need to watch over her. An alarm would be painful on her ears and, if she was really injured, she wouldn't hear it. 

Jace felt like someone needed to make sure she was alright, needed to make sure she would live. Since there wasn't anyone there for her right now, that person would be Jace. 

So he grabbed her canvas sea bag full of clothes- where she got that he didn't know -and marched her into the room next to his. She was complacent in all of this, moving as he wanted her to and eventually falling into bed.

Jace left her to sleep in the tight pants and oversize scrub shirt while he washed the sweat and dirt off of his body. He checked his injuries as best he could in the mirror. The cut on his hip was doing fine and, even though it needed a bandage, it didn't really hurt. At least, the cut on his back and the fleshwound of his bullet wound hurt much more. He was very thankful that the Circle had Mags, especially now that Clary was unable to fix him up.

Afterwards he made his way to his own study to retrieve paperwork and other necessities. Jace didn't like his office, bare white walls and a boring light colored wooden desk. It was a place of solitude and silence, a place to absolutely be alone. 

Usually Jace would work in the gardens, papers spread around him while he sat on a picnic blanket surrounded by the flowers his mother used to love. It was peaceful, soft. It was something that Jace cherished, a piece of her that he was only told yet felt close to. 

Instead though, Jace sat in a small chair. The back of the chair poked into the slash in his back uncomfortably. 

Jace rearranged the paperwork on the small table in front of him. It was originally supposed to be used as a nightstand, but he had repurposed it to hold the papers and documents and proposals that he needed to look over and sign.

The top document was actually one that his father needed to look over, Sebasitans medical records and payments. Since he had gotten hurt doing things for the Circle they would pay for it all, but it still needed to be looked over anyways. 

Jace scanned the document anyways, reading over the surgeries performed and the expenses covering it. At the very bottom though, Jace saw the cost distribution. The only thing that he could really read though was her name, the redheads name. The name listed was hers; Dr. Clary Fray. 

The curly haired blond stared at it, at the word on the paper and at the person in the bed. She was so small, innocent, and peaceful looking. Clary was a force of nature to be reckoned with when awake. She moved like fire and spoke like ice, hair and body constantly in motion and a cool and calculating demeanor. 

Yet, lying in the bed, there was no vibrant energy, no purposeful movement. She was curled in on herself, wrapped around a pillow, lips slightly furrowed even in sleep. She was soft like this, soft and delicate and totally unattainable. This was something that he knew few people ever got to see, a privilege even. 

While he should have been checking over reports in Peru, signing off on scouting missions from California and Louisiana, and looking at the numbers from the latest runs, Jace was watching Clary. A rouge strand falling in front of her face, lifting up as she occasionally puffed out a breath in her sleep. He was mesmerized by that piece of hair, so much so that he hadn't even heard Tessa come in.

Jace didn't know how long the brown haired woman stood watching him at the door, he only knew that she startled him with her words. “Have you eaten?”

His head whipped around, dried and unbrushed curls whipping with him. Jace's eyes found Tessa leaning against the door, a soft smile resting on her face and mug cradled in her hands. “Where'd Will run off to?”

A small chuckle escaped the blond's lips, smile growing softer if possible. “He's decided to shadow your father again today. He wants to be the best older whatever to you that he can and take some of the stress and pressure off of you.”

A light scoff fell from Jace's lips as Tessa moved into the room to sit across from him on Clarys bed. “Stress? Tessa,” Jace scrunched up his lips. How to say what he was thinking was the problem here, “I don't know what you and Will are going through- he's only hinted at it not being a great time for you guys and obviously I've seen it at times -but I’m here for both of you regardless.”

Tessa studiously watched the woman sleeping on the bed. It was obvious that she didn't want to look at Jace. “You know that Will wants to be a father. He wants to give children the childhood he never had and the parental figures that he didn't really have growing up. And I really want to do that too. But…”

She slowly looked back to Jace, face a tight mask. “I'm guessing that the shots haven't been working.”

“Shots…?” A thin hand moved to cover her mouth. If the room wasn’t silent Jace wouldn't have heard her breathless whisper. “How did you know about the shots? Will and I agreed that we didn't want to tell anyone in case they didn't work.” 

The curly haired man looked at the paper on his desk, hands itching to rearrange it. “You left them out one day. It was when Will was super sick and you had to go in because Herondale Enterprises had a huge case. He needed some meds and the empty syringe was sitting on the counter.” Jace shrugged lightly and noted the time on his watch. “That was years ago though.”

“Yah.” A breathless sigh fell from her lips and dropped into her cup. “It didn't work and I began to have super bad side effects. I uh…” The brunette took a quick sip of her tea, the steam having long disappeared, “I collapsed that day- in the courtroom -and they told me that I had to stop the hormone treatments.” 

Her eyes began to get glassy, focussing and unfocusing on the wall in front of her. “I thought that we wouldn't be able to have a family.” 

Despite her low tone, Jace could tell by her posture and the increasing thickness that she was on the edge of crying. He rose and, moving swiftly from where he was next to the nightstand, sat next to the grey eyed woman. Gently reaching around her he tucked her head into the crook of his neck. 

“You know that Will cares about you and your health.” he told her softly, stroking her hair. “I doubt that he would do anything to endanger you. I was surprised that he took you on as a consultant with him to Peru. I would have sworn that he would’ve begged for you to stay here. Even if he had to get on his hands and knees.”

His playful but reassuring tone elicited the response Jace was hoping for. “He's only been on his hands and knees for me twice. Once when he was proposing and the other just a few days ago.” Tessa chuckled and burrowed deeper into his embrace. 

The woman in his arms was an honorary sister. They shared no blood yet he would go to war for her just as he would all of his chosen siblings. His arms tightened and he kept stroking her back in a calming motion. 

Gently, Tessa pulled back. She handed her mug to Jace who set it on the nightstand turned desk. “Im so sorry.” Tessa started to say as she wiped at her eyes. “Ugh. It feels just like when I was taking those stupid replacements.”

Jace's mind whirled at her offhand comment. “Wait so…”

Her brilliant smile told him everything he needed to know. “Yes. Congrats Jace you're going to be an uncle.” Saying this quietly did nothing to diminish her delight. 

The blond man laughed quietly and pulled the woman into a tight hug. “Congratulating me? No. Congrats to you and Will. This is amazing! Is this why you guys left Peru so quickly?”

He could feel a nod against his shoulder. “I thought it was bad food from the night earlier but then I just kept puking while Will was fine. I got a test and we left right after.”

“I understand. It's not a place you would want to be at all, let alone as you are.”

The brunette woman pulled back as Jace noted the time- 15 minutes until he would have to wake Clary again -with a frown on her face. “I'm pregnant, not an invalid! Besides I get enough of this from Will. I don't need my little brother doing the same.”

Deciding to mess with her a little bit Jace puffed up his chest, held a hand over his heart and took on a blustering tone. “Us Herondale men are of the finest breed.” His chin rose at the words he said. “We would never think to endanger the fair maiden.”

She laughed again and hit him lightly over the shoulder. “Do you think hell be happy for us? Your father, Will's uncle. I want him to be happy.” her tone was worried as she looked at the sleeping woman.

Jace rolled that around a little bit. “He might be so happy he'll give you both Herondale Enterprises and the Circle.”

Tessa turned worried eyes on him. “He wouldn't. He'd never take that from you.”

His smile thinned. The blond man knew that his father was above nothing; it was how the Circle had risen to such a powerhouse in only one generation when most organizations like the Circle were centuries in the making.

“You never know with that man Tessa. He switched Will and I’s position at the last meeting- one I apparently wasn't invited to since I was asleep at the time -and Will had to be the one to inform me. Not like me being asleep had ever bothered him before.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “It's whatever. All I can do is prove that I deserve to be his son.” He shook out his curls, the hand Tessa had at one point placed on his shoulder slipped off at the motion. 

“Who's making dinner?” Jace tried to switch her attention. “Unless we want to order take out or send someone to the city for takeout it won't be Will.”

Tessa shrugged her shoulders, seemingly content to drop the touchy subject for the time being. “You cooked last night but I did lunch. Wanna split it? Or should I tell Will to grab something on his way back?”

Jace could tell by her words that she was tired. As a result of being raised by her Grandfather, Tessa was against takeout and would usually go for a home cooked meal- even if she had to cook it herself. Offering takeout as an acceptable dinner replacement was testament to how tired she truly was. 

He shook his head at her a tad. “Ill cook. Hows street tacos sound? Not too much for your sensitive stomach?”

He stood and offered a hand to her, pulling her up with him. “I don't know if food is too much until I smell it or eat it.”

Jace nodded again, content with her answer and that he was making the street tacos. “I need to wake Clary and then I'll get started. Eat in an hour... thereabouts.”

“Sounds good.” Tessa told him as she was leaving. “I'll see about getting everyone back here for a family dinner. Will’s been dying to tell everybody.” 

Jace smiled at that. Watching Tessa talk about Will was something he could never tire of. He just hoped that someone would talk about him in that manner one day.

Jace gathered his papers knowing that, after the rest of the gang got to the house, he wouldn't be able to focus on work. He deposited them on his bed at the end of the hall, not sparing a glance at the pile of laundry he would have to do or the blank walls. 

Clary was sleeping peacefully as Jace walked back in her room. Her room. She had only been lodging here for a few hours and yet Jace was already internally calling this her room. The most worrisome thing to him though: he didn't know when it started, when he started thinking of this place as a home for her. 

The curly haired man lightly touched her shoulder, shaking it as he called her name softly. Her face slowly hardened as her eyes blinked open. “Jace.” She acknowledged softly, voice sleepy and unused. Adorable could be the only word to truly describe her like this, right now.

“Yeah.” he replied, tone soft. Clary didn't raise her face from where half was buried in the pillow. “I've got to test coherency again.” He told her, brushing the piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Ugh. Jace we've got over this-” Jace truly didnt care about her answers, her attitude was enough to tell him exactly how coherent she was. “-I know the president and if it's changed since you've last asked then I wouldn't be in this bedroom still.” He loved it when her eyes held the fire they were exuding now. Green eyes shone like emeralds, it was now that she looked truly alive. “I'm still Clary Fray and I’m still a doctor and I'm hungry. Is there food?”

Jace nodded lightly. “It'll be ready in about an hour. I'm making street tacos.”

“Sounds good. I uhh…” She glanced around before returning her eyes to Jace, “I need my ribs rewrapped and I already know that it would be better for someone else to do it.”

The blond's hand immediately rubbed at the back of his neck. “I can do that- or Tessa if you feel more comfortable with a woman doing it.”

The face she leveled at Jace was wholly unamused. “Bodies are bodies, we all have them. I'm not self conscious about mine, had to get over that a long time ago.” Her tone trailed off, almost as though that was an afterthought.

Jace turned and grabbed a roll of bandages from the redheads medical bag they had grabbed with her clothes. When he turned back to her, Clary had already sat up and was struggling to get her shirt over her shoulders. 

Dropping the bandages beside her on the bed, Jace lightly took her shirt and pulled it gently off of her shoulders and over her arms. When her face was freed from the light blue fabric Clarys eyebrows looked strung together and tight, a grimace written across her lips. 

The curly haired man lightly grabbed the end of the wrapping that was tucked under her armpit. Clary lifted her arms as best possible with her level of pain while Jace quickly went about passing it from one hand to the other. 

Her ribs were a mess of colors other than her natural. Long streaks of blacks and blues mixed with darkening reds and pinks were painted across the delicate skin of her chest. Jace couldn't remember a time when he had been this close to a female non family member and wasn't focussed on her body, in a sexual manner that was. Clary, however, was the first he could remember. 

He was wholly focussed on her and on her getting better- not too fast of course, he'd love just to have her near if he couldn't have anything else. 

As he went about rewrapping her ribs, mindful of Magnus’ advice on how tight to wrap them, Clary began to reach up and undo her braid, grimacing at every movement of her shoulders. 

It wasn't until Jace got to her chest, already having wrapped her torso, that the redhead's hair fell around her face in thick controlled waves. Jace tucked the end of the wrapping back under the previous wraps around her torso, mindful to keep all of his touches clinical and quick. 

He watched as she struggled to pick her hair up to braid it again, face taught with determination and pain. 

“You know,” Jace began hesitantly, unsure of her reaction, “your hair looks fine down.” He knew that Izzy usually put her hair up if she was dissatisfied with how it turned out some mornings- or at least that was her answer when he had asked one time. 

Though Clary didn't turn to him, Jace could feel her glare. “I want it up, less of a hassle.”

Jace nodded, useless as it was since she wasn't even looking at him. “I can braid hair.” At the turn of her head and the high arch of a single eyebrow he suddenly felt the need to elaborate. “I learned for Izzy and Tessa- everyone else in the house is hopeless.” he told her quickly. 

“Sure. Want me to sit on the floor?” Resignation was threaded in her words.

“Yup.” He couldn't believe she had actually taken him up on the offer. “French or Dutch?”

A light sound of disbelief from Clary filtered through the room “Pardon?” 

Jace laughed slightly. He knew that many people didn't know the difference when asked. “Braid. French or Dutch?”

Clary turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder. “Whichever one doesnt make me look like a dinosaur.”

She repositioned herself on the floor while Jace sat on the edge of the bed, Clary between his legs. The blond reached over and grabbed the pencil from where it rested on the desk. He used it to part her hair down the center, proportioning it for two equal braids on either side of her head. 

He lightly took her head and tilted it back, her features serene and relaxed. Jace went to begin one of the braids at the top of her head, parting and holding the curls lightly. 

“So…” the girl below him began, passing the time he was taking, “I never pegged you as gay.”

Jace choked on air. “What?” 

“I said I never p-”

“I know what you said.” He told her. “Im not gay. I just… I wanted to learn for my sisters, my family.” He divided the hair and started crossing pieces under one another. “My father told me once that my mother used to dream of having a girl that she could spoil and bond with. Instead well…” Jace trailed off as he gathered hair from her ear and pulled it to the braid running down her skull, “I think you can imagine sort of what happened. Learning how to do this brought me closer to her memory.”

The girl sitting between his legs tensed lightly. “I don't know much about my father- my mother never told me or Jon anything about him. I did figure out that he was in the Navy.” She straightened up and pulled her knees lightly to her chest. “I guess that learning how to fight and being badass is my own way of remembering someone I never got the chance to know.”

Jace nodded to no one and made a hum of approval. “Hair tie?” he asked her, lightly tapping her shoulder with his pointer finger. It was a drastic change of topic but necessary. There was only so much he could deal with having been up over 36 hours already. 

A tie tapped against his finger and he tied off the braid. “Do you have a second tie?” he asked her. 

A light shake of Clarys head, her unbraided hair swishing against his leg and tickling his senses, told him his answer. 

He immediately picked up his phone and called Tessa, her voice ringing out from the speaker seconds later.

“Yes?” Her polite tone told him that he probably woke her up.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, picking up Clary's hair and starting on the second and final braid. “I need a tie. Also how many people am I cooking for?”

“I'm having Will pick up more supplies, full house tonight.” Her voice reflected exactly how he felt. Unfortunately a full house meant everybody that had knowledge of the house and could be invited to a ‘family’ gathering. He knew it basically meant that he would be stuck in the kitchen without help, everybody being terrible at cooking but him and Tessa. After all, who the hell burnt a pizza beyond edible? The directions were on the box. Will and Alec, that was who. To this day, Jace and Tessa hadn’t given them back control of the kitchen.

He could hear Tessa bumbling around her and Wills room in the house- everybody had one -before walking to Clarys. 

Her voice surprised him as he crossed the pieces of hair over and under one another. “So she means a lot to you.”

He knew that even if she wasn't here to see him roll his eyes, Tessa would be able to tess from the tone of his voice. “Of course. I feel partially responsible.”

A light huff puffed over the line. “You and Will are much too alike to just be cousins, I swear.”

“Tessa,” He jokingly whined, drawing out the vowels in a way he knew she hated, “come on now.”

“It's ok to care, Jace. You need to remember that not everybody you let in leaves. Your parents weren't the best role model but I'm still here, so’s Will and Alec and Izzy and Mags. We’re not leaving and neither will Clary if I have to say anything about it.”

“And,” Jace cleared his throat, fighting down the emotion that seemed to try to claw its way up, “what can you truly do to stop her- stop any of them?” 

He was oblivious to the woman in the room, oblivious to the hair he held in his hands.

“Jace,” Her tone bordered on disapproving, “you know about my situation and-and my brother.” Under her breath Jace could hear the normally prim and proper New England girl curse out her hormones. “You are family and you know how I fight for my family.”

Her breath huffed out, slightly exasperated but loving all the same. 

“We've got you Jace. We’re willing to catch you so please, if not for us then for yourself, be willing to fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Was this as boring to read as it was to write? I feel like things needed to be said and addressed but… my only thought while writing this was “I really hope you guys dont hate this as much as I hate writing this.”
> 
> I love every comment I get. I simply adore them. Keep them coming please, they are a light and motivation for when I have to push through boring parts. 
> 
> Anyways… ugh. I'm so sorry. Seriously though. If this was boring TELL ME!!! Please oh please tell me because this is how I learn. Seriously. Someone read one of my starter chapters for an ATLA story and PM'd me about there being SEVERAL inconsistencies. You know what I wrote back? Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. Seriously guys. THIS IS HOW I LEARN. 
> 
> Speaking of those ATLA stories… read them. Read them. Im serious. It's just one chapter. This will end and when it does I would love to know which story that my readers would want to get next. I've got a poll and please I pray just vote. I cant see who votes (I don't think) and no one else can see who votes (I'm pretty sure of that). So DO IT. God if you do nothing else. It's so sad for me to look at it and see 0 votes. 
> 
> If you want to see something TELL ME. I have direction but it's not specific so do me a favor and help me get there. I will not be upset if you suggest something and it isn't perfect. I'm learning, you're learning, we're learning. This is a journey, let's do it together. 
> 
> I dunno what I want for next ch so I can't hype yall up for anything. I want to write the full house scene and for Clary to FINALLY remember that her bro is in the hospital- she just needs that prod to her memory. Or maybe imma skip it with a small flashback and talk ab Jace and his upcoming mission. Yup. I'm sending him away from Clary bc that will move the plot and create tension. Tension oh beautiful tension.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Though it's not Tuesday here I think it's Tuesday somewhere… hopefully. Either way I'm tired and this is late. I'm so so so sorry but I ended up doing an entire chapter rewrite because I think we all deserved some fluff. Well… as fluffy as this story is getting so far.
> 
> Recommendations:  
> ~Queens Gambit (Netflix)   
> ~This is not happening (Comedy Central on YouTube) This channel is literally the only reason I was able to work through this chapter.  
> ~Any one of Kangaroo2011 s fics (Crossposted on FF and AO3)  
> ~Eastside (acoustic)   
> ~Cringe by Matt Maeson  
> ~Any song by Halsey  
> ~Higher, Hi-Lo, River, Wild Horses, White Flag all by Bishop Briggs
> 
> So… there are probably mistakes in this chapter. There are mistakes in all of my chapters. If you want to beta them and look over- I ESPECIALLY need help with the punctuation of dialogue -then email me. 
> 
> Read, review, vote on my poll and enjoy!

It was an interesting feeling, someone braiding your hair. It took courage and trust for someone to be able to essentially surrender such a vital part of their body to anothers control- no matter how temporary it was. Clary couldn't truly comprehend why she would give that control to him, why she would allow that at all. The best she could reconcile was that the green eyed woman was curious as to what he was able to do.

Clary also hadn’t imagined that she would ever speak about the complicated way she tried to feel close to her father. 

Though she had never really thought he was gay- the way he had done the very least to look at and touch her breasts when he was wrapping her chest being one of the many indicators -she had found it very uncommon for a man to know how to braid hair. 

The redhead struggled on a large black shirt with a long faded wave symbol where a left breast pocket would be. Picking out dark blue sweatpants with NAVY written across one leg in yellow, Clary remembered how Jace did his dmanest not to touch her in any inappropriate way.

It was sweet, in a way. So concerned for her comfort he ended up making it feel clinical and cold. Trained professionals were taught how to make things like that feel warm and comforting, not cold and clinical. Patient comfort in those situations relied on the professional and how well they were able to put their patient at ease when they might not be- like in their bra getting their chest wrapped.

Clary chuckled as she stepped lightly down the hall, glancing in rooms. Ever since Jce had left her to change he hadn't been back. Not knowing the way through the house- mansion more like -Clary had been opening doors and looking into rooms trying to discover her way through the mansion. So far she had found what looked to be an office- barren and boring -and a couple undecorated rooms. 

Upon opening one of the last doors before a staircase downward, Clary found a lived in bedroom. A large bed adorned with a dark wooden frame and finish, what looked to be a large mahogany desk, and a wall of floor to ceiling bookcases. The bed was nicely made with forest green sheets though there was only one pillow positioned in the center. 

Curious, Clary entered further into the room. The desk had weird circles on all the drawers and papers scattered haphazardly over its surface. A slate grey wax burner sat backed into a corner of the desk by some pull-out drawers, smells of peppermint and coffee invading the space.

“What are you doing in here?” 

The strange voice behind her sent Clary whittling around. The redhead's vision blurred and she reached out to steady herself on something, arms coming around her. 

Clary grabbed onto the arms for support, waiting for the nausea and vision to steady. “Shit I’m sorry.” She told the chest as she began to look up. 

A man almost as tall as Jace- she assumed -with dark hair and steady blue eyes stared down at her. 

A growing sense of unease at being caught unawares and in a vulnerable position bubbled up inside her. “Im fine now. Could you just point me to the kitchen? I'm sure Jace will be looking for me.” She hoped that a name drop of one of the residents of the house would be enough for nothing to happen. Clary didn't feel that she would be able to defend herself as injured as she was. 

She felt more than saw his chest rumble with slight disapproval. “I'm sure he is.”

He began guiding her from the room, a hand on her arm and the other firmly pressing between her shoulder blades. “Still, no reason to go snooping throughout his room.”

His room? Clary hadn't even known where she was, let alone know enough to go snooping somewhere. Who even said snooping anyways? It was such an outdated term. 

The dark haired man marched Clary down the stairs and through a hallway until they reached somewhere she knew, the bathroom with the hall that led to the kitchen. 

Clary ripped her arm from his grasp, turning on him. “I can take it from here, thanks.” 

Her vision spun again. She grabbed her head as the man guided her further down the hallway and into the kitchen, light music playing in the background as pots and pans were jostled. 

“Caught this one in your room.” He told the person in the kitchen. Clary looked up at where the clanking had originated. Jace, in all his glory of black sweatpants and a light grey t-shirt, was puttering around the kitchen, turning knobs and grabbing supplies from the fridge. 

Jace sat the meat in his hands down before turning to where Clary and Alec were, leaning against the granite countertop with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. ”Alec…” Jace trailed off. Clary immediately assumed that to be the name of the man behind her. The blond shook his head lightly before focussing his honey colored eyes back on her. “I'm sure you didn’t mean to.”

Clary didn't nod, her vision still levelling out. “You didn't exactly tell me how to get out of a place I've never been before.” She smirked lightly- playfully -before sobering up. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to be in there.”

She sat at the island, gazing at the blond man from over the countertop. “I really didn't know where I was going.” The redhead rested her chin on a curled fist. “I don't think I was fully conscious when I made the journey up there.”

The blond nodded, glancing at the man behind her before furrowing his brow. Clary turned to Alec, a mask of indifference adorning his face when she looked at him. 

Confused about the silent conversation with their eyes, Clary turned back to Jace only to catch him mouthing the end of a word with the shake of his head. Behind her, the black haired man who looked very similar to Will in all but the shape of his face and the color of his eyes, looked down at her coldly. 

“Fine.” The word was toneless coming out of his mouth. “I'll go wait for Will, heard he pulled some extra shifts.”

Jace nodded again before turning back to the food on the counter. Sounds of something cold hitting something hot echoed throughout the otherwise silent kitchen, atmosphere tense. 

With a light scoff Alec left, almost bumping into the brunette woman who was walking in from where Clary thought the entryway was. 

The woman- Tessie, or Jessie, her name was. Clary couldn't remember -laid a thin hand on her stomach as she watched Alec leave with worried eyes. Quickly she walked over to Jace and laid a hand on his back, face morphing into supportive and kind features. 

“I’m fine.” She said as she lightly patted his shoulder. Moving around the kitchen, Jessie used a kettle to invade Jaces already full stove top. He let her without hesitation. 

Theirs was a finely tuned dance, Jessie readying two mugs and Jace twisting to accommodate her. Clary remembered how he had been alone in the kitchen when he was making last night's dinner, moving just as gracefully as now but as a solo and not a duet. Maybe it was because that woman wasn't with him in the kitchen, wasn't with him to bend and move as they were. 

Clary didn't know, didn't look up as she studiously traced the natural lines of color in the marble countertop of the island she was sitting at, how she felt about that. Clary didn't know how she wanted to feel about this stunning revelation. It hurt, a light stab to her heart. She knew instinctively that she was too deep now, knew that she needed to have ran from the situation ages ago. 

It was the light tap of a mug sat in front of her face that caused Clary to look into soft brown eyes. “Decaffeinated?” Clary asked her softly.

The woman- she must have been around Jaces age -smiled down at her and nodded, lines creasing around her eyes. “We've met before,” Her voice was nice, Clary decided, soft and motherly, “I’m Tessa.” Oh, so Tessa and not Jessie. Clary made sure to store that information.

Clary held out a hand to the woman. Not knowing how much the brunette before her knew about Jaces side life, she withheld how they truly met. “Doctor Clary Fray. I work with Magnus.” While the truth, it was a partial truth. It was a truth that withheld what mattered.

Despite it being damn near impossible, Tessa's smile softened even further. “I know that you were the one to save Jace's life so thank you.” A fond expression overtook the brunette's features, light smile playing with her plump lips. “The idiot gets himself into more situations than he can get himself out of.”

She shook her head, hands coming around to cup her mug tightly. “I don't know where Alec and Jordan were but thank you for being there when they weren't.”

Clary took the handle of the mug, lifting it to her lips before blowing on it to chase the temperature away. “I was there.” Clary told Tessa, words dropping into her mug. “I'm just glad I was there to help. It brought me this,” the redhead gently motioned to the kitchen and the space around her, “but I’m thankful all the same.”

Tessa smiled impossibly softer, easy to see how this woman was special. “He's the brother that I never deserved.” A light chuckle escaped her. “Without him I never would’ve met my husband or had this life.”

The same door that Alec left through banged open, Will walking into the kitchen with a dark skinned man Clary didn't know and Alec on his heels. 

Will walked on Jaces side of the island, unceremoniously dropping several bags of assorted foods on the counter near the blond man. The black haired man lightly pat Jaces shoulder before coming around to Clarys side and wrapping both arms around Tessa, engulfing her form. 

Clary looked away. She could see the absolute joy in his face simply from being close to her, love prominent in his eyes as he bent over her to kiss her nose. “Hi my love.” Voice soft.

The redhead could hear the smile on his face from the tone of his words. For him, she knew from this interaction that there would be no greater joy than to be with Tessa. It was sickeningly sweet and Clary wanted it for herself one day, a guilty desire. 

Clary looked up to see Jace rolling his eyes fondly at his family, a soft smile of his own on his face. The blonds eyes met hers and his expression changed. “See what I have to deal with?” He asked in a faux whisper. A hand on one hip, other holding a spatula, he motioned to the gooey in love couple. “All these couples rubbing it in us single peoples faces. Unfair I tell you.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, unrestrained and free. Clary looked to Will, his affronted face over exaggerated and playful. The black haired man stuck his tongue out at Jace, eyes squinted in the most ridiculous way. 

From below Will Tessa laughed giddily, eyes passing from the man standing above her to the man on the other side of the kitchen. “Well Jace,” the brunette began, giggles sporadically breaking through her words, “if you would just go for it.” 

Clary watched Will look from his wife to his brother figure. “Huh? What's she talking about Jacie?” 

The man in question quickly turned around, a light blush staining his cheeks. He made a scraping noise to accompany the cacophony of noises already coming from the grill and countertops near it before turning back to Tessa and Will, holding two types of forks with meat speared on them. 

At their questioning glance, Clary saw him give an involuntary laugh before answering. “To shut you up.”

They took the forks without question, Will smirking the entire time. 

“I put yours and Clarys aside.” Jace told the couple quietly in undertones, an intense glance to Tessa being his only explanation. 

Clary of course knew that, as someone who had unfortunately suffered a concussion, she shouldn't be ingesting alcohol or caffeine. Tessas though… there were interesting inferences that could be made from that though. 

Out of respect for the woman and as a kindness to Jace, Clary dropped those thoughts from her mind. It was obvious that- whatever it was -the others besides Will didn't know about it. 

The red head ran a hand over her braid, intent to ignore the conversation taking place next to her for as long as possible. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Magnus side up beside her, sitting on another one of the stools positioned at the bar. She nodded to him, noting the bags under his eyes.

Clary took a sip of her now cooled tea, lightly evaluating him. He hadn’t yet lost the air of doctor. She knew from her own experiences that it could take a couple minutes to relax and stop immediately evaluating everyone you came into contact with. 

When doctors walked into a room they always did an initial observation of their patient. It allowed them to get information before talking to the person they were supposed to evaluate. 

She could see it in the mask that doctors learned to construct. It didnt matter if you were internally freaking the fuck out, you never let the patient or their family and friends see it. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, carefully constructed confidence built on experience and practice rested like a mantle. 

Magnus gave her a small smile. “How are you feeling?” 

Mentally evaluating herself, ribs, brain, nausea, ect, Clary decided that, really, she couldn't complain. There were people in the hospital with far more severe head injuries. Truly, she was lucky it was only a concussion. 

Fiddling with her cup, she could feel something prickling at the back of her brain, waiting to be known and acknowledged. “I feel fine. I'm not bedridden so I can't complain. I just…” She didn't want to be the one that kept the mantle on his shoulders, kept him from relaxing out of his doctor role. “I know that there is some temporary amnesia but I can't stop the feeling like I'm missing something.”

Though they were different ages and in different specialties, Clary looked to him for guidance. Magnus had a few years of practice on her and, as such, the green eyed woman knew that he would have an answer or know where to look for one. 

Clary watched Magnus purse his lips, brows furrowing into a line. “When did it start?”

“Umm…” Clary stalled for time as she wracked her brain, “just recently. I was thinking about the hospital.”

The dark haired man leaned in closer, seemingly worried. “Well I know that all of your patients and cases have been taken care of. Anything specific about what you were thinking about?” Concern was evident in his voice. 

Clary felt her eyes unfocus from the man, thinking about what she had just been thinking about. It was a trippy feeling, searching your own brain for a thought. The hospital, but what about it?

She pursed her lips, oblivious to the world around her. “I was thinking about how I couldn't complain because I wasn't laid up and as bad as others with head injuries. Head… head injuries… Oh god.”

Her brother. Her fucking brother was the person she was think about who was worse than her.

“Oh fuck.” It was a breathy exhale, not even true words at all. Her eyes welled as a hand reflexively covered her mouth. 

She didn't fathom the arms coming around her, the hand resting on her back. Clary didn’t register the fact that, in front of total strangers and a friendly coworker at best, she was finally cracking. 

The tears didn't drop, the sobs didnt come. She just sat there, lightly shaking and waiting for her body to let her break. Ears ringing, she was dead to the world. 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Clary managed to hear the babbling comforts being whispered in her ear. Things like “You're fine. He's fine. You can visit him in the morning.” and “Breathe Clary, please.” 

She lightly pulled away, positive her face looked a mess. “Details, please.”

Magnus- so those were who the arms belonged to -looked at her, slight from on his face. “You don't need to know. All that matters is that he's regained consciousness and will be up for visitors tomorrow.” His purple contacts bore into her eyes, hand rubbing comfortingly up her arm. “He’ll be alright.”

Clary looked around, finally registering that she wasn't alone, realizing that was why her body wouldn't finally just let go. Jace was looking at her worriedly, concern written across his features. Will and Tessa were still talking quietly- Clary no longer caring about what they were talking about -and Alec and the man she didn't know were talking animatedly in their own little world. 

Rubbing furiously at her eyes and doing her best to talk herself down from mad-dashing to the bathroom, she smiled as best she could at the two men. “Thanks.” A small laugh escaped, embarrassment flooding her veins. “Sorry. I cracked a little bit there.”

The purple eyed man shook his head, a soft and unexpected fondness overcoming his features. “Everyone has their points my dear.”

He kept rubbing up her arm, providing much needed warmth and comfort. Clary watched as Magnus looked up, seconds before a soft and familiar blanket came around her shoulders. She looked up seeing Jace standing over her, draping the green camo blanket on top of her shoulders. “Thanks.”

Jace just shook his head at her, stepping back with a small smile. “Returning the favor. You've been through a lot in these last few days.” He walked back to the food, dishing up plates and arranging the finished product. 

The red head shook her head. “Talk about my whole life. Fuck.” Quiet words but a large impact. She rubbed the bridge of her nose between her eyes, aching to relieve some tension. 

Calling all the people up to the assembly line, Jace quickly exited the kitchen before the hoard arrived. He expertly carried three plates, one in each hand and a third braced on a forearm.

He lightly deposited them in front of Tessa and her, two tacos each adorned with pico de gayo, guacamole, chicken, and other fantastic sauces Clary hadn’t seen since her time down south. “No alcohol.” he quietly told them, barely audible over the noise of the men fishing themselves up.

“Hey!” A voice from the mess of men rang out- who? Clary couldn't say. “You think the two guys from the hospital will get here? The two who were with the bleached blond?”

Before she could stop herself, sensor herself, Clary just had to free the words in her heart. “Believe it or not, it's all natural.”

A head popped out from the mass of bodies, the dark skinned man she didn't know. He set his made plate on the island across from her, the men jostling from behind caused him to turn slightly. “Oi! Walk around!” 

The man turned back to her, a flirtatious smile on his face. His eyes quickly moved to Jace then back to Clary, a fast flick. “Is his hair really that light? Is that even possible?”

Clary smiled knowingly. “He was born with that hair and he’ll die with that hair.”

Unwillingly her mind flicked to what he would look like, laid out on a metal table with blood spilling onto the floor. Clary unconsciously pulled the blanket closer, relishing in its comfort. “Anyways, I uh… yah that color is natural. Almost makes him look bald from the lack of hair he's got on his head.”

The man's smile widened, leaning forward, and ignoring his food. “Really?”

She felt the hand on her shoulder before the voice spoke above her. “Jordan. I didn't make that for you to waste.”

The man, Jordan, looked at Jace, eyes flicking to the hand on her shoulder. He just nodded, lowering his eyes to the tacos on his plate.

It was only after that interaction that Clary realized how silent the room had been. The open floor plan that connected the kitchen to the dining room to the living room was silent. She looked around, curious at the other people and not even realizing that two more had entered the kitchen- Simon and a woman with black hair, the same one that sat in her kitchen both ages and hours ago. 

The woman cleared her throat. “I doubt it, Jordan. They're not really in the family.”

The man hummed, apparently accepting of that answer. Clary, however, wasn't fully satisfied with that answer. She looked quickly to Jace, his face doing its best to devour the messy street taco in one bite. 

Quickly noting that no one else was really paying attention to them, Will and Tessa- again -in their own world, Alec and Magnus lost deep in conversation with one another, Simon and the woman were dishing up before heading to the the dining table behind Clary, and Jordan- fully chastised by Jace -was lost in the world of his phone, Clary looked to Jace. 

She took the leap. The red head probably could have softened her words and been more creative with her knowledge seeking however, with her concussion and level of tiredness, Clary truly wasn't in the mood. “So what's the deal with the family shit?” 

Jace choked on his food, audibly gulping it down. “What?”

He looked around, seeing what Clary had seen just seconds ago. “Well, it's kind of a long and complicated story. I’m an only child, though I believe who can be family isn't dependent on the blood or genetics that creates our physical body.”

He looked around again, the motion obvious and silly- almost over exaggerated. “My fathers sister- my aunt -is Alec and Izzy's mother.” Clary knew of Alec, but Izzy? She had no clue who that could be. 

Confusion must have registered on her face as Jace quickly motioned with his head at the girl with Simon, still deep in conversation. “Anyways, there was a big fallout between the siblings over inheritance- it was just land but… still. My… less than humble father never went to college when both his siblings Maryse and Edmund did. In the end, it was supposed to go to Edmund, the youngest but most successful brother.”

The blond took a big breath, barely audible though his body swelled. Eyes darting around once more, Clary could see that he was more soldier than spy.

He exhaled slowly. “I-uh-I don't know the details, my father would never tell me, but my uncle Edmund, his wife Linette, and their eldest daughter Ella were killed in a car accident. My father, despite being the least successful, was still male and, therefore, next in line. He got it all. Only my father and aunt Maryse- and maybe my uncle Robert -know the details but it was enough for her to pick up her entire family and move across the country to Hawaii. I was 14 and Will was 15 when he and Cecily- his younger sister -came to live with us. Are you following so far?” Everything was spoken to her in quiet tones under his breath, replicating an intimate conversation.

Clary nodded, picking at her taco. Such a large family, she could only imagine. It had only been her, her brother, and their mother since she could remember. “So you're really cousins but you feel as though they are your brothers and sisters.” She let the money issue drop- if it came up again? So be it -she wouldn’t be the one bringing up suspected murder.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Alec and Izzy kept in touch with Will and I, even attending Universities near one another so that we could see each other again.” The blond man laughed lightly. “They were by my side and I theirs for most of my young life. I missed them.”

Clary nodded, understanding slightly what he could be going through. “I was so excited. So excited for Will and Cecie to come and live with us. I would finally get the siblings I had been wanting my entire life.”

The green-eyed woman scoffed. She knew that having siblings was never what only children expected it to be. No one did the thing that would eventually get someone in trouble, things went missing, and no food was safe. There were arguments and grudges that were held, sometimes for seconds and sometimes for months. Her fights with Jon were legendary amongst their friends. There were many times that she would complain to Simon about wanting to finally knock some sense into him. Luckily though, they always resolved their fights even if they rarely ended in a battle. 

She shook her head lightly, laughing internally at the beautiful thoughts but horrid actuality. “It doesn't really happen like that but please, continue.”

Clary bit into her food, lettuce and tomato and sauce spilling onto the open taco below as Jace continued with his story.

“Anyways so my aunt's husband- my uncle -had a brother. They were from an old money family, unlike mine to be honest, and the brother that wasn't my uncle got disowned at a very young age. Again, don't know why.”

Jace looked around again, keeping better track of what others were doing than Clary had been. He paused and gave her a meaningful look, telling her with his eyes that they would finish their talks later. 

Clary nodded, finishing her taco. She felt Jace leave more than saw him, his presence and their little bubble going with him. She watched as he went over to Will, the red head hadn't seen him move, and grabbed wine glasses. 

Where Will got the bottle, Clary didn't know. All she did know, though, was that the plum smell wafting over from where they popped the cork was decadent. It was sweet and savory, slightly tangy from the yeast. 

They poured seven glasses of the wine and two of a sparkling cider, the bottle label having the words ‘Kid Friendly!’ in large letters. Clary was thoroughly disappointed when one of the cider glasses was placed in front of her, though she knew why. 

Jace passed out the glasses while Will lightly knocked a fork against the rim of his own. 

Once everyone's attention was on him, glasses in hand, The black haired man looked to his wife. “It is with great pleasure and great humility that I ask of this toast.” His voice was smooth and melodic, wholly serious for one of the first times Clary had seen. “My amazing, resilient, patient wife,” little titters of laughter sounded throughout the room, “and I are expecting and due in late February. 

“I don't, I don't have parents that will spoil them, feed them candy only to deliver them back at the height of their sugar rush. That's what I’m relying on you for. To be my family, to be the ones who will be their family.”

The man sniffed slightly, Tessa's hand coming to rub lightly on his arm. “Maybe not at the height of their rush,” more giggles from a crowd holding the largest smiles, “but yes. We’ve also decided to be surprised about the gender.”

Will looked around. Clary didn't know what exactly he was seeing and thinking, but love and joy and hope was evident on his face. “What are you waiting for? Tonight we celebrate!”

The room erupted in cheers, all drinking merrily and wishing to get a glance at the happy couple. Congratulations were spoken, a babyshower planned, and small words and tokens of stories about the couple were spoken. Somehow, Clary managed to get roped into the baby shower planning with Isabelle- the red head didn't know the woman well enough to call her Izzy -for Tessa and the babe. 

The duo sat on the plush grey couch, Isabelle having already left her heels at the door and dressed in business formal. Her black blazer hung open, the top few buttons of the white shirt having come unbuttoned between the time that she arrived and now. Legs tucked up underneath her body, wine glass being slowly swirled in her hand, and pencil skirt smoothed across her thighs, she was truly a beautiful human. Though she didn't know much about her, Clary hoped that the woman was kind. 

So intent on planning the events, she wanted to do right by Tessa and Jace, Clary missed Simon come by with refills. It was his voice, a bottle in each hand that finally alerted her to his presence. 

He shook the bottle, a noinverbal question. 

“Erm… No thank you.” 

He walked away, a wordless exchange on his part. Clary felt horrible, face hot and whole body following soon after in embarrassment. 

Facing back to Isabelle and the subject at hand, she was surprised to see anger in the other woman's eyes. “You really hurt him you know? So long and then not a word.”

The redhead had expected that they were an item, never confirmed nor denied explicitly though. Her eyes narrowed, a prickling sensation poking across her skin. “I had my own shit.”

Isabelle huffed. “Nothing though, just one day theres nothing? Unexceptable.”

Growing increasingly irritated with the woman, Clary tried to rein it in. She knew logically that the confrontation was coming from a place of love for Simon, but it was still confrontational. “Look,” she began, shuffling and holding out a hand in a stopping motion, “you werent there and it was almost a decade and a half ago.”

“That doesn't matter.” The black haired woman took a large gulp of her wine. “He's still hurt. I really care about him and it still hurts him.”

Clary levelled a look at her. “What do you want me to do? Saying I'm sorry won't do shit. But I can offer an explanation. That is, in my opinion, the only thing I can do that may remotely help. I can say that being around people who care is optimal though. Never underestimate the importance of a support system.”

Isabelle nodded, downing her wine in one smooth gulp shortly after. “Thank you I-”

A door banged open, the sound reverberating throughout Clarys skull and pulling the attention of the room. 

Stephen, like she had never seen him before, stormed through, unknown men in various levels of wear stepped through. He was enraged, a palpable anger was felt by Clary who was across the room from him. 

Jace was the first person to break the silence that reigned throughout. “The heads? Father what-” 

“The situation in Peru is a purple level alert. Four hundred men are dead and countless supplies stolen. The time to attack was yesterday. I want everyone necessary at the table in ten minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> ~Would you like to see a spin off or one shots involving my happenstance universe? I could always delve into Sizzy and Malec and Wessa a bit. Maybe some more history with the families. I dunno. If you do though… Let me know.
> 
> ~Vote on my poll. Do it now before you forget. Thank you!!!
> 
> ~I'm trying to get writers together to do a Sense8 fic but with TMI. If you want to be part of that process there's more info in my bio and you can always ask me questions. 
> 
> ~Though I dont fully understand all of the likes and follows and stuff I see it. I appreciate it. All of those things let me know that people enjoy my story.
> 
> ~Live life to the fullest and Ill get you 13 ASAP.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 2.0:
> 
> ~I don't have a schedule and probably won't have one ever (because I’m an indecisive little shit).
> 
> ~Who do you think the black haired man is?
> 
> ~Just for reference: It took me about 6-7 hours to write and edit this chapter.
> 
> ~Do you want music references? I could always open the chapter with a song list.
> 
> ~Since this work is on FF I have already posted the first 8 chapters there. I am planning to get AO3 caught up to FF and then update them both simultaneously. Do you want a twice a week or once a week update on AO3? It'll be once a week until some votes come through.
> 
> ~As always, please please please review!!!


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